Right of Way
by JackOwens1860
Summary: A week of Michael Britten in BOTH universes. Features a lot of bonding with Rex AND now with added Hannah. All characters feature. Please Read and Review. Third person POV, some spoilers, but nothing huge. Enjoy.
1. Chapter 1

**Right of Way**

**Author's Note: Awake is an amazing show with a brilliant concept that has taken me aback. It's standard procedural for the most part, but avoids being too stale. I relish these sorts of shows with all their complicated emotional subtext and issues. That is why I have crafted this story (hastily I am quick to point out) centred around Michael and Rex's relationship. I must stress at present it is INCOMPLETE, but will be finished in the next couple of days. **

**Please read and review to tell me how I have portrayed the individual characters, their relationships and the overall concept of the show. Hannah will play a larger role as the story develops.**

**Enjoy.**

Michael Britten woke up, already familiar with what was to come. Regardless, he checked his wrist to confirm it. Green. He scrolled through the files in his mental database as he sat up, the system he used to keep things straight and separate. The Salami Guy case. He was working the Salami Guy had to smile even though he knew better; if the guy had not died so horribly, the circumstances surrounding his death might have been material for a black comedy. Bird had found it amusing too, but in his own way. He remembered chasing down leads and canvasing the area. They had found no-one and got nowhere. But he was feeling optimistic. It was something Hannah had mentioned last night in bed, something about looking too hard for a realistic solution. He thought he might just have found the answer.

He got up. He showered, dressed and tooled himself up for the day. He studied his reflection in the mirror and was surprised. The haggard, withering expression his face had adopted in recent weeks, proof the toll his dual-life was taking on him, was far less apparent this morning. He rewarded himself with a slight smile to the man on the opposite side of the glass; things were actually getting easier. Hannah had mentioned it to him twice yesterday, about his refreshed look and demeanour. He had been convinced she was just trying to boost his spirits, but he could actually see what she meant now. He went downstairs radiating a vitality that was obvious even to the most comatose of teenage sons.

"Are you on drugs?" Rex asked as his father took his usual seat opposite him. Michael gave him a furrow of his brow before shaking his head.

"Nope. I'm just…" The man paused as he struggled for the right word. His son watched him intently, waiting for a response. After a few brief moments, Michael shrugged his shoulders. "I don't even know. I just feel good today." Rex, having expected something more revealing, copied his father's action and went back to his cereal. Michael reached for the box as the silence returned. "And how about you?" He inquired pouring the cereal into his bowl, "How are you doing today?" The youth shrugged again without looking up.

"I'm okay."

"Nervous?" Michael did not even have to scan for the information this time; Rex had another final match to contend with. The man had been excited about going to see it for the last fortnight or month, if you included the time he spent with Hannah. Today was the day of the match. Regardless of the case he was working, the man was going to watch his son play. He was damn sure of that. Rex seemed to have shrugging his shoulders down as some kind of tick; he did it yet again for the hat-trick.

"No. Are you still coming?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Because you don't have to if it's too much out of your way…" The teenager seemed to deliberately trail off. That's when Michael saw it. Rex was nervous. He hid it well, but the man could tell he was nervous about this match. If he did not want Michael to come watch, then it was clear he was afraid he might embarrass himself on court. The nonchalant tone he had been dishing it only heightened his father's awareness of his nerves.

"You'll kick his ass." Rex looked properly awake for the first time that day after that bold prediction. Michael nodded as he finished his current mouthful. "You will. Trust me."

oOo

"So, what have we got?" Bird asked without looking up from the reports splayed on his desk. Michael smiled to himself and then aptly articulated his thoughts on the subject.

"This isn't homicide." His partner's head did not shoot up dramatically, nor was it ever likely to in future; Bird simply glanced up slowly. He slouched back in his chair, offered Michael a hard stare and then gave a measured rebuttal.

"This more of your 'hunches', Mike? You got another crazy notion that's going to close this case?" Sceptical was too kind a word for Bird's current mood. He was beginning to think his partner was just randomly stringing words together and hoping they made sense rather than attempting to explain himself anymore. Then he saw Michael's smile and knew this was different.

"This is death by misadventure." Michael announced without any kind of fanfare. His tone of voice made it sound like such a conclusion was obvious, if not inevitable. His companion frowned.

"How do you possibly figure that? The guy had three-quarters of salami forcibly rammed down his…" Bird stopped to compose himself; he could not even finish his sentence without the threat of an inappropriate laugh looming over him. He cleared his throat. "Rammed down his throat, Michael. He was pretty much strangled."

"You remember the guy was a competitive eater? He'd won something like eight national competitions and was due to compete in that pork-eating one on Wednesday?" His companion nodded in agreement so far.

"Yeah, sure I do. We interviewed like forty of his so-called 'competitors' on Monday when it happened. The guy had enemies. Anyone of them was weird enough to do something that bizarre to another human being." Michael knew that was true. The victim's fellow enthusiasts were all odd, secluded individuals and might have done such a thing by mistake, but they were not outright killers. Besides which, he had interviewed enough suspects to know that any one of those people would have shown remorse by this stage and confessed. None had. That told Michael something he chose to ignore until that morning.

"Yeah, but we thought the salami was significant, like a message or something, right?" Bird did not like feeling like he was being coached into giving the right answers. He only rolled with it because he was curious where he was being led.

"Yeah. The main challenge for the competition was six-and-a-half pounds of salami in a time-limit."

"What if our guy had been training for it?" Realization crept onto Bird's face. He frowned when what his partner was suggesting flashed through his mind.

"You're saying this idiot killed himself by trying to swallow more than he could handle?" Michael nodded, his smile now cracking into an inappropriate grin.

"It would explain everything, don't you think? The fact the door to his room wasn't forced, the fact the cameras failed to pick up a single witness at that time and the fact that we found no fingerprints besides the victims on any forensic evidence?" Bird wanted to believe it. But he could not. It was just too easy; too clean a solution to such a brain-teaser. His police instincts said no to the idea this was the end of proceedings. Nobody could be that dumb. Nobody. He blew out his cheeks.

"That sounds like a short-cut."

"Or the simplest explanation of why the victim had no defensive wounds and how the salami got so far down his throat." Bird could see his companion was more than happy to run with this theory, because that's all it was, and take it straight to their boss. He tried to caution him.

"Are we really about to go to the captain and tell her our guy choked himself to death on his own salami?" Michael nodded.

"Yep. Come on. Let's close this case."

Captain Harper was on Freeman's side. Like him, she could not bring herself to believe anyone could be so idiotic as to try and shove a pound of salami sausage down their throat and not think it was a bad idea. She was prepared to dismiss it as soon as Michael began to offer his theory…until she heard his accompanying evidence. It was factually accurate to say the least, but was far closer to compelling than anything else. There were no unexplained sources or half-mumbled hunches to be heard coming from the man with whom such vague notions had become synonymous. For the first time since before the accident, Harper saw the smart detective work Michael was once renowned for. She was pleased to see he had not abandoned the practice in favour of pure clairvoyance.

The man had ordered the component parts to make huge salami and then constructed it in his hotel room. It explained how, despite ordering so much meat, no cutlery or crockery had been used. He also explained the state of his hands; they had been covered in meat particles in a pattern consistent with creating some kind of sculpture. It also explained how the room was locked from the inside as the victim would not want to be interrupted. Harper was aware of how ludicrous the whole theory sounded, but the evidence supported Michael's conclusions every step of the way. Eventually, she caved to his constant pressure.

"Fine. Death by misadventure it is. Just hurry up and close this thing before it gets any stranger." Both men nodded in contrasting styles. Michael was empathic while Bird was as reluctant as possible. Harper saw this and smiled at the dichotomy of her veteran team as they left her office; she was lucky to have them.

oOo

"And she just took your word for it in this matter, Detective?" Doctor Evans said trying not to sound as amused about the case as he was while they sat together in her office. Michael nodded.

"Yeah. I think she's getting behind me again as a police officer. She seems to think that, I'm capable again. That I'm getting back to where I was."

"And how do you feel about this renewed sense of faith on her part?"

"It feels good. Recently everything has started to feel good."

"You mean _here_ or in your dreams?"

"Both. You know I'm on top of my cases now instead of confusing their details between worlds and things are going great with Hannah and Rex." Michael was not sure when it had happened, but Doctor Evans had stopped making notes on their sessions. She now appeared more than content to merely listen and offer guidance, almost as a friend rather than a psychiatrist. She leaned forward.

"Well, believe it or not, that's actually a sign of positive progress." Michael could not help but scoff.

"What? Everything going perfect for me in each world is progress?" Evans nodded in her usual relaxed way.

"Absolutely. Both worlds and their problems are in balance at the moment. That means you're being presented with a fifty-fifty split in regards to which you prefer. Now, whichever starts becoming harder to maintain is going to shift your focus back to the other. The constant shift of preference will eventually derail your fantasy world as you struggle to juggle them as effectively as you have been doing. You can only wrestle with your subconscious for so long before it decides to quit." Michael was quick to shake his head.

"But that's just it. I think I can maintain the balance between both now indefinitely. I don't have to choose a side." Doctor Evans adopted a sympathetic smile as an immediate response to the idea. She emitted a short sigh before speaking.

"Nobody can do such a thing indefinitely, Detective Britten, even you. But let's change the subject. How's Rex doing?" Michael nodded yet again. He used to do it to assure her that he was in the right frame of mind; now he did it more to assure himself of what he was about to say. Rex was still a sensitive issue for him, despite their mended relationship.

"He's okay. He's got another match today. He's moving forward in his life."

"And do you think he'll do okay in his match?"

"He'll do more than okay, Doctor."

"Really?"

"Yeah. The kid's gonna win. I know he is."

"And is this based just on your knowledge of Rex or have you gleaned something elsewhere that makes you so sure of his chances?"

"Both. Rex is a gifted athlete and I've read a bit about his opponent. The guy's weaknesses are Rex's strengths. He hasn't got Rex's stamina or his reflexes. All he has to do to win is run this guy into the ground. He can do that."

"Well, it's good to see you really getting into the spirit of it as deeply as you are.

Tennis is such a crucial part of his life right now. I'm sure your being there is only going to improve relations between the two of you, particularly if he loses." Michael blinked.

"Sorry?"

"If your son fails to win, that will bring you closer."

"Why would he not win? I just told you he's better than his opponent hands-down; so why are you saying he's going to lose?"

"I said _if_ he loses, Detective Britten,_ if_ he loses. Defeat often teaches us far more than victory and invariably showcases the true mental strength of the person within, their resolve so to speak. I hope he wins, but if he doesn't assure him it is not the end of the world." Michael was suspicious and not afraid of voicing his concerns.

"Do you know something I don't?" He spoke in a grave tone, one that announced his seriousness on the matter. Doctor Evans only smiled genially before glancing down at her watch. After a brief moment, she nodded at what she was seeing and let her gaze return to her patient.

"Time's up, Detective. I'll see you in a couple of days for your next session."

oOo

Michael found himself as dumbstruck as both Tara and Emma as they sat there. Rex was on the verge of losing. A string of uncharacteristic errors, a ballooned forehand here and a botched drop shot there, had resulted in the teenager being broken at love by his opponent deep in the deciding set. He looked strangely out of sorts, stiff somehow, as he paraded up and down the baseline, awaiting his opponent's serve on match point. He watched the ball toss and then the resulting one-hundred-and-two mile-an-hour ace flash past him.

"I don't understand…" Tara practically murmured to Michael after that final point, "He should've destroyed that kid. He was so sharp in practice this morning. It makes no sense." Emma too seemed to be in a state of disbelief. Doctor Evan's suggestion flashed across his mind at that very moment. It made him question how involved in Rex's world she truly was. She had not predicted he would lose, but had strongly alluded to that possibility despite Michael's sensible protests. Suddenly he felt like he was out of the loop. He thought things between he and Rex were going well, that everything was okay; this made it seem like he knew nothing at all.

"I really don't know, Mr Britten." Emma said after the trophy presentation had concluded. Michael wondered if he had missed something in recent weeks, something to explain Rex's behaviour on court. But even his girlfriend did not have an answer for it. "He seemed fine this morning. He was a little nervous, but no more than usual. It doesn't make sense." Michael nodded. He remembered what Hannah had told him. She told him not to search for a complex answer; go for the simple solution. He did. Rex had suffered a bad day. That was all. Doctor Evans had just been her enigmatic self today, nothing more. He instantly felt back in control.

Rex hadn't said anything since losing his title match. He had simply gone straight up to his room when they got home and shut his door to the outside world. Michael gave him an hour of what was sure to be adolescent sulking before venturing upstairs. Opening the door found his son hidden from view underneath his bed sheets. The man was more than prepared to deal with him and promptly sat down on the vacant side of the bed. He shook the mound to his right gently.

"Hey, wanna tell me what happened out there?"

"I lost." A muffled reply explained.

"And that's all there is to it?"

"Yes. Can you just leave me alone?" Michael did no such thing. He leaned closer to the area he assumed was the youth's head.

"So why have you been crying if you _just_ lost?"

"I haven't been crying." Rex said rather indignantly.

"Rex, I can hear it in your voice. Come on, tell me what's wrong." There was a silence while the offer was considered. The answer was predictable.

"No."

"Fine. I'll just sit here all night then." This threat managed to force Rex to surface. The teenager's head appeared from the corner closest to his father's face and stayed on the mattress. Michael saw the drying streaks on his son's face and knew it had been unusually severe. He made no hesitation in brushing away the lingering tears with his thumb. Rex did nothing to stop him. "What brought this on?" Michael said transferring his hand from the youth's cheek to his hair in one fluid motion. He began stroking Rex's hair as he had done countless times when he was younger. Rex seemed indifferent to it but certainly not resistant.

"You'd think I was pretty dumb." The youth said. Michael's mind flashed back to the Salami Guy case. He smiled at his son.

"Believe me, there are plenty of dumber people out there than you." Both his father's reaction and slightly cryptic statement caught Rex's interest. Like this morning, the teenager could see the man was in a better mood than usual. He frowned.

"Yeah? Like who?" Michael knew he was not strictly allowed to discuss case details outside of the workplace, especially those of a sensitive nature. But his son was miserable about something and the man knew this guy would make him laugh. They shared a similar sense of humour. Hannah had always said as much.

"Mister Salami."

"That's his name?"

"No, that's just what we call him down the precinct. He was the victim in a murder case I've been working for the past couple of days. Guy was found dead in his hotel room, choked to death on a pound of salami sausage." Michael saw Rex immediately stifle a laugh. The man nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I know; that's what I thought the first time I heard it. Wanna know who did it?" The teenager, unable to hold off the urge to smile, could only nod. It was clear he desperately wanted to laugh. Michael shrugged his shoulders. "It turns out he did it to himself." That was it. Rex burst out laughing. It lasted almost five minutes. Eventually, he covered his mouth and shook his head, raising his other hand apologetically.

"I'm so sorry. I mean I know it's a tragedy but…" He sat up and rolled his eyes, "That is the dumbest way to go I have ever heard. I mean…why?"

"Guy was a competitive eater. They're a pretty weird bunch."

"No wonder you've been in a good mood all day." Rex shook his head again, looking at his father in incredulity. "I never thought police work was like that. I thought it was all gruesome murders and suicides and stuff."

"You get your fair share of everything as a cop, especially the stupid ones." Michael took this opportunity to slide himself onto the bed and position himself right beside his son. He made an open gesture with his hands. "So can we talk about what happened earlier?" Rex's smile faded.

"Things just got to me. I just sucked out there today. You know, I played really badly against someone I should've beaten in my sleep. And everyone was watching. Emma saw me lose my temper and so did you. I was humiliated out there. And after I got back from the match, I thought about how things would've been if mom had been there. I thought about how she would've said it wasn't my fault and how I'd just had a bad day and then I just went. It was weird. I thought I was over the crying bit now."

Michael knew his son had just had a moment of weakness. He had been getting better about the whole situation recently. He was smiling and laughing more than he had before. He was spending less time holed up in his room than before. He was hanging out with his friends and Emma more than before. In short, he was getting back to where he had been before the accident. But there were still holes. That was fine. Michael knew people did not mend all their problems instantaneously; it took time. That was why, instead of saying anything or doing anything else, the man merely pulled Rex over to him. "What are you doing?" The teenager said automatically stiffening his body against the action. Michael responded by squeezing his shoulder.

"It's this new thing called being a good dad. Relax; Emma can't see you right now." Rex let his head fall against his father's chest and for his body to soften. He had not been this intimate with the man for almost five years, even during the funeral. Rex had always favoured comfort from his mother to his father, even though they were arguably as good as one another. He supposed she had just seemed kinder and more understanding than his father. He also supposed, as he lounged in the man's arms, that he no longer had a choice in the matter. And that was not necessarily a bad thing.

"How come we're doing this?" Rex asked as Michael ran a hand through his hair.

"You don't like it?"

"I just think I'm too old for this stuff now."

"You're never too old for this kind of stuff, Rex."

And that was that. Both of them just stayed like that in silence for the next twenty minutes.

oOo

Michael had decided at the very outset of the day that he simply wanted to enjoy his son's company, no matter the circumstances. He wanted to make sure the teenager felt loved and connected to him in a way that should have been a natural matter of course. Michael was completely aware of the fact Rex knew he loved him and always would. That was not the problem. The problem was in reminding Rex why he loved his father.

Being with Hannah was different; they were both adults with years of experience behind them and an emotional bond that could withstand anything, even a child's death. With Rex he had to try so much harder to keep them together because adolescence made him psychologically fragile in way Michael no longer understood. It created distance between them and often made Michael question how strong their relationship really was. But a moment like this, together and comforting, was all it took to answer that nagging question concisely. It was also comforting that Doctor Evan's 'premonitions' were vague enough that if Michael had missed their appointment, it would have had no bearing on his decisions right now. Michael could smell his son's hair, hear his breathing and feel the rise and fall of the boy's chest beside his own. They were closer than ever. Michael could just tell from the way the youth sighed and shifted his weight into him that Rex understood that too. It was beautiful. Michael believed words would ruin something like this, so the man did not venture to open his mouth. His son felt differently.

"It's like déjà vu." Rex said somewhat absently. Michael frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"The last time we did something like this was exactly like this. It was when I fell out with Cole over something stupid. I must've been like ten or something. Mom was out and you got home early. You remember that?" Michael racked his brains trying to think.

"Was that where you hid under your bed from me when I walked upstairs?" He heard Rex smirk from under his chin.

"That's the one. You managed to talk me out from under the bed, using funny stories about you when you were a kid. Then you sat me on the bed, set me straight and held me just like this. And I don't think I ever thanked you for it. I patched things up with Cole and restored order to my universe because of what you said, but I never thanked you."

"You don't have to thank me for being there for you. I'm your dad; we do that."

"Not everyone's dad does that. And not everyone's dad keeps it to themselves. Because I know you never told anyone, even Mom, how messed up I was over it all. It's like now; I know you won't tell anybody how broken up I am over losing a tennis match. So I want to say thank you. And not just for now; it's a thank you for all the times I never said it before when I should've."

"I never thought you were ungrateful. Some things don't need to be said, but thanks anyway. Maybe we should cut this short before you say anything you regret." Michael said whilst shifting out of his current position. He got off the bed before turning round to face his son. Rex seemed a little shocked by his father's decision and was now propped up on one elbow returning his gaze.

"Dad, I'm not afraid of telling you anything. I'm just afraid you'd be disappointed in me if I did. I've done so many things I'm not proud of."

"Me too. All I'm saying is you don't have to tell me everything. If you feel guilty about our relationship, don't force yourself to tell me things just to ease that feeling. Relationships aren't supposed to work like that." Rex nodded.

"Okay." Michael returned the gesture.

"Okay. You coming down for dinner then?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Right of Way 2**

**Author's Note: A positive review means more story. So here it is. Different font, different world and includes Doctor Lee, Vega and Hannah getting in on the action. More Rex already being written. Continues on almost immediately from the first instalment. Again, read and review and I'll post some more tomorrow. Enjoy.**

o

Michael blinked in disbelief at what Doctor Lee had just asked him. It was so out of character for him that, for a brief moment afterwards, Michael was rendered speechless.

"You want me to tell you about my relationship with Rex…_after_ his death?" The man inquired trying to clarify what he meant. Lee was quick to jot something down on his notepad before replying.

"In your _dreams_, Detective Britten. How would you describe your relationship with your son in this fantasy world?" Michael was instantly suspicious. He leaned forward in his seat.

"Why do you suddenly want to know what my relationship with him is like if you're already convinced it's all in my head? Surely it's irrelevant if Rex is my imagination; he'll act how I want him to." Doctor Lee made a passive gesture with his hands before removing his glasses and staring out the window.

"In normal cases of this sort, you're entirely correct. Typically, a patient suffering these kinds of delusions enjoys an idyllic relationship with the subject, one which has been created by their subconscious to fully enjoy the experience and thus deepen the control such a creation has over them. Normal matters, those that threaten to upset or unbalance the relationship as encountered in everyday life, are absent or simply ignored. But your relationship with Rex is far more…" the psychiatrist paused to search for the right word. He turned back to allow his gaze to fall on his companion's, "Dysfunctional than you would prefer. There are conflicts that arise between you, problems that threaten to weaken your bond and yet, your subconscious makes no effort to correct them. It seems to me that your problems with Rex in the dream world are trying to tell you something. Perhaps maybe that you should part ways amicably or risk a violence separation further on." Michael understood what Doctor Lee was driving at well enough. His and Rex's issues were a sign he was beginning to distance himself from his son. The good doctor was implying abandoning Rex was the smartest move he could make, burning his bridges sooner rather than later. He thought it was crap.

"Rex and I are fine, Doctor. We're as stable and content in our relationship as me and Hannah. There's no dysfunctional element; everything is good." Lee sighed in a tired, often repeated action. He put his glasses back on and leaned forward himself.

"Well let me be frank then, Detective; I am struggling to help you. You rebuff every theory and piece of advice I offer concerning your delusions and seem totally unwilling to accept anything I say could be credible. I need to warn you now that if a breakthrough is not reached very soon, I will have no choice but to tell your superiors you are unfit to continue in your duties as a law enforcement officer." Michael knew this was a very real threat. Doctor Lee was not a man who mired his words in subtlety or nuance; his every delivery was designed to hit as hard as humanly possible and linger for minutes after.

"Do you even want to help me anymore, Doctor Lee?" Michael said immediately. His companion looked surprised by the force of his tone, but soon composed himself.

"You once told me you had no desire to make progress. In fact, you told me that at our very first session together. Despite that, you have made increments without being consciously aware of it. You and your wife are planning to move to another state. You would not be capable of such an action if you did not want to move away from the ties that hold you here, namely your son. Because I can see you are not completely overwhelmed by your fantasies and that you are willing to change your whole life for the sake of your wife's happiness, I won't give up on you just yet. But I need to set a definitive deadline to force the breakthrough. We've got four weeks. If you make no further progress in that time, I will make my evaluations. We got a deal, Detective Britten?" Michael shrugged his shoulders haphazardly in reply.

"We've got a deal, Doctor. Four weeks to change the world, right?" Doctor Lee smiled, but Michael already knew it was not in appreciation of his attempt to lighten the mood. It was, as ever, a cerebral smile, one that said logic would eventually win out.

"Let him go and believe me, Detective, everything WILL be fine."

o

"Michael, are you listening?" Vega asked as he stood over his partner's desk. Michael was again somewhere else, maybe as far away as another galaxy and the younger man was tiring of it. He had just spent most of the night compiling a credible lead in the case they were working. He had worked his ass off to find this suspect, this lead and, after explaining his intelligence report in excruciating detail to his partner, discovered his companion had not heard a word of it.

"What?" Michael asked looking up. Vega let his shoulders slump.

"I got a suspect for this case, Michael; someone that's a really good fit." He said despondently. Michael frowned.

"You okay Vega? You look a little depressed. Everything alright?" Vega responded by tossing the folder he had composed into his partner's lap.

"Read it and tell me what you think. I'm just gonna grab a coffee." Before Michael could even open his mouth to place an order, Vega had disappeared from view down the corridor. The man dismissed the younger man's behaviour whilst turning his focus on the report.

He quickly cycled through the database in his head to find his current investigation. Chicken Man Case. It was another strange one, but was not funny in the same way as the Salami Guy case had been. Double homicide had occurred in downtown LA. The victims, both young men with gang affiliations, had been brutally stabbed in a rival neighbourhood. When he had arrived on scene, Michael was pretty sure it was an open-and-shut case of gang warfare. Then witnesses had described the killer. They said the men had been stabbed by a giant yellow chicken. It made no sense to either Michael or the respective gangs involved in the dispute. There was trace evidence at the scene, a few feather samples from the costume, but it led nowhere apart to say it was a widely manufactured outfit. Added to that was the typical hostility police officers encountered while dealing with gangs. Nobody was saying anything or was likely to in future. As he recalled, they had been working this case for almost two weeks without a significant breakthrough. Michael looked at the file.

Vega had done a hell of a lot of legwork, judging by the thickness of the file. As soon as he opened the jacket, he found his partner's neat scripted handwriting over printed copies of rap sheets and interview transcripts. It didn't take long for Michael to realize the man Vega figured for this case was a distraught father who had lost his son to gang-related violence. Sam Jenkins, 41, was a retired butcher from San Diego who had made his home in LA almost fifteen years ago. According to records, Jenkins had owned a highly lauded butchery and acted as an almost exclusive supplier to some of the city's finest eateries. That all ended six months ago when his thirteen-year-old son was caught in the crossfire of two warring gangs trying to get home from school. The boy had not survived his injuries. Sam went mad with grief. His wife filed for divorce after he was first arrested for assault and battery on a minor with gang affiliations. That had taken place only two months earlier. Michael had to admit, it was a good fit.

"So, how'd you get this guy as a suspect in the first place?" Michael asked as they walked up to Jenkins's last known address. "Because we were thinking crazed lunatic just a couple of days ago." He was still ashamed about having such a vague and umbrella-like theory for such a high-profile investigation, but Hannah had not been well recently. It was not an illness but more a hardship as she finally cleared out Rex's room. There had been a lot of crying as she recalled things from her time with him. As a consequence, Michael had been unable to give this case his full-attention. Vega shrugged.

"It was actually something you told me. It was about how grief made you do some crazy things. It got me thinking maybe the costume was more of a symbolic thing rather than just a lunatic's idea of a disguise." Michael nodded in approval.

"That's impressive detective work." Vega, having finally garnered some overdue praise in his opinion, offered his partner a crooked smile.

"Yeah, well, let's just hope this is our guy or it'll all be for nothing."

Knocking on the door gave them no joy. Neither Michael nor Vega were buying he wasn't home. They heard movement from somewhere inside the house and were quick to secure the perimeter of the house; they had both read Jenkins had no pets. While Vega covered the rear entrances, Michael readied himself to force the door. It turned out only a moment later that was unnecessary; Jenkins crashed out the kitchen window and made a run for his car. The two officers easily boxed him in before making the arrest. After placing him in the back of a radioed in patrol car, they scoured the house. The chicken costume was stuffed in the laundry basket in the master bedroom still smeared with blood.

o

"Why did you run, Mister Jenkins?" Michael inquired once they were in an interrogation room back at the precinct. Sam Jenkins did not look well. He had the appearance of a man who had not only failed to sleep or wash for weeks but also no longer cared about his own health. Grief had hit him hard, no question, but his actions could not be excused so easily. Jenkins offered a heavy shrug of his shoulders.

"I thought it was the gangs coming to get retribution."

"So you freely admit you murdered those men in cold blood?" Vega said sliding neatly into the conversation. Jenkins nodded. "We're going to need that on record, Mister Jenkins."

"Yes, I killed those men." Michael was curious.

"Why did you choose those two individuals in particular? Reports into your son's shooting say it could've been up to fifteen people who were in the area on that night. How could you be sure?"

"They were brought forward as suspects at the trial. As soon as the judge dismissed the case against them for lack of evidence, I saw their faces. And I knew right there that they were responsible. Nobody human smirks like that."

"And it never crossed your mind that you might've been wrong?" Vega asked obviously convinced their suspect was far more concerned with mindless revenge rather than anything constructive. Jenkins shook his head.

"I never doubted it for a moment."

"And your purpose for the chicken costume?"

"It takes a coward to know a coward. My son is dead because I was too busy to pick him up from school. I never told my wife. I'm a coward, scared of consequences. Those boys were the same; I was just letting them know that consequences find us all eventually." Michael could see Jenkins had lost his mind over what had befallen him. He supposed it was an easy trap to fall into. It made him think of Rex and how he would react if he truly had lost his son; how would he cope? Michael already knew it would more than likely tear him apart, inside and out like Jenkins.

"There's a definitive difference between consequences and murder and there's an even bigger difference between fact and assumption. You are probably never going to see the outside ever again; Mister Jenkins and I personally believe that to be for the best." Michael replied feeling he had gathered all the pertinent information he needed before processing. Jenkins nodded before bowing his head.

"Me too." The man said quietly.

Captain Harper was more than satisfied with the arrest and the wealth of accumulated evidence to back it up. She was pleased Michael had not only followed standard procedure, but also utilized his partner in a far more inclusive manner than usual. She was almost certain Vega was beginning to win him over with his abilities. Rookie or not, Efrem Vega was a good cop and a budding detective. Another case like this could be the making of him.

"Solid work, guys. It's rare that we solve a case like this after two weeks of going nowhere, but, I guess you're better than the average detectives. You say we've got his confession on tape?" Harper said from behind her desk. Vega nodded.

"Yes mam."

"And we have the suit used in the killings in evidence?" Michael nodded.

"Yes mam."

"Well in that case, this investigation is officially closed. Detective Vega, I'd like a word alone with your partner. Please leave the room." The younger man nodded before vacating the office immediately after. Michael was wary of being alone with his superior. For a brief moment before she spoke, the man feared Doctor Lee had passed on some information to her.

"How are things at home?"

"Fine thanks."

"Is Hannah okay now?"

"Yeah, she's uh, she's doing better."

"I'm glad to hear that." She gestured to the man outside the door, "Pretty good for a rookie, don't you think?" Michael rolled his eyes before admitting as much.

"Yeah, he's learning the ropes better than expected."

"You should use him more often, rather than rely on your 'hunches' and clairvoyant skills. Okay?" Michael was under no illusion what his boss was hinting at; she had lost faith in him in recent weeks. His policing skills were duller and more reliant on gut feeling than intelligence gathering and analysis. Harper was hoping this would be the moment to turn Michael back to traditional methods, hand-in-hand with Vega whom she considered a proven asset now. The man nodded at her.

"No problem, Boss."

o

Hannah was waiting for him at home. She seemed excited to show him something. He soon discovered what it was when he was led upstairs…into Rex's room. She had done it. What had seemed impossible only months earlier was now a reality; she had cleared out his belongings and repainted the whole room. There was nothing in it now but the teenager's bed and computer desk. To Michael, it looked so empty than what he was used to. Hannah had a tight grip on his hand when she spoke.

"So, what do you think? Doesn't it seem bigger with beige on the walls?" Michael nodded. He could see she was desperately seeking his approval for what she'd done. He gave her it.

"Yeah, it sure does. What did you do with…" The man made a gesture with his finger to indicate the empty space of Rex's drum kit and books, his clothes and his general bric-a-brac. Hannah understood the gesture instantly.

"I sold quite a lot of it round town. I gave his clothes to good-will and some of his books to the library."

"But, you didn't get rid of everything, did you?" She could see he was somewhat stunned by her ability to part with so many memories. She shook her head and squeezed his hand.

"I kept all his drawings from when he was younger, some of his reports and all his sporting trophies. I was thinking, maybe we could put them up in the new house." Michael was growing more surprised by her turnabout in attitude with every passing moment. He gently took hold of her by both shoulders.

"Do you really want to do that?" He asked in all seriousness. She smiled at him.

"I want to be stronger for us. Pretending he was never here is only going hurt me more. I think I'm finally ready to let him back in." The two of them embraced in mutual joy at her decision. It was clear they both felt the same way. Or, at least Michael pretended they both felt the same way. Seeing Rex for him was as elementary a problem as getting into bed for the evening; for Hannah the reality was very different. He supposed he was still having trouble appreciating that, particularly with Doctor Lee's stinging comments and foreboding ultimatum hanging over his head. But if she didn't want to abandon Rex to the most distant corners of her memory, then Michael would not either. It was as simple as that.

They sat and watched cable together for almost two hours before retiring to bed. Just like being with Rex, being with Hannah was an experience and pleasure Michael could not overstate the importance of. These intimate moments with her, snuggled up on the couch with her head on his shoulder, was what kept him sane and grounded, despite the paranoid feelings about what exactly was real continuing to plague him. Whenever he doubted the reality of this world, he smelled her hair and stroked her skin, kissed her softly on the lips or merely held her tighter. She was as real and tangible as she had always been. She was as loving and patient as she had always been. She was, despite the tragedy, the same woman he had fallen in love with so many years ago and he would never give her up. Not now or a week or a month or a year from now. And no amount of smart arguments or interpretation from Doctor Evans was ever going to be enough to persuade him otherwise. That much he could be sure of, beyond any reasonable doubt.


	3. Chapter 3

**Right of Way 3**

**Author's Note: Here we go then, back to the green reality for more time with Rex, Doctor Evans and Bird. Doctor Evans is still pushing for Michael to accept this reality as definitive, but again Michael is unwilling to commit. More bonding between Rex and his father only makes it harder…Plot developments are coming, I kid you not.**

**I now have TWO reviews for my story. Hopefully this'll help me chalk up three and maybe drum up a little more business for Awake.**

**Enjoy.**

Michael woke up early on Friday. He checked his wristband. Green. Check. He had to drop Rex off at school this morning. He got up. He showered, dressed and tooled himself up for the day. He studied his reflection in the mirror. He looked okay this morning, balanced. It was a good sign. Rex came downstairs ten minutes after his father, still dressed in his pyjamas. Michael glanced at the wall clock: six-thirty a.m. The teenager was up extremely early, a total departure from his normal routine.

"You're up early." Michael said only for Rex to shake his head.

"No, I always get up at this time. _You're_ up early." Michael frowned at the answer.

"You sure about that?" Rex's response was to roll his eyes.

"Not all teenagers are lazy y'know."

They ate breakfast together in moderate silence before Rex cut away to grab a shower and get dressed for the day. Michael took the opportunity to scan through his database and check what he was working on. The answer came back as nothing. He had no current investigation running with Bird or the department in general. Well, that was bound to change. Then suddenly he was thinking simultaneously about what both Doctor Evans and Doctor Lee had been telling him. They had taken polar-opposite stances on his relationship with Rex, but were basically stressing the same idea; his relationship with the teenager was under more strain than usual and might lead to some kind of violent fallout. But that was nonsense. If they spent time with Rex they would know that, instead of commenting as blind spectators. His son was letting him in more all the time. Holding him last night proved they were making advances, not withdrawing. Michael did not even realize he had wandered to his son's bedroom door until he was going to open it. He stopped himself in time to knock.

"Yeah?"

"You decent in there?"

"Uh, sure. I'll be out in just a sec."

"Would you mind if I just came in for a minute?"

"…I guess not."

Michael let himself in, finding his son hunched over the desk gathering books and stuffing them into his rucksack. Rex did not respond to his father's footsteps and continued to pack. The man took the opportunity to glance around the room. He saw it every day regardless of whether he was with Hannah or his son, but was far happier to see it as he thought it should be…inhabited. He recalled the Spartan nature of the room when Hannah showed her renovations and could not help contrasting it with the sight before him now. Rex was, for a teenage boy, fairly clean. His room was not unkempt, but merely appeared messy. His laundry hung out of its basket, the base of which was cluttered by several pairs of sneakers. His bed was made but the duvet was lumpy and at a skewered angle. His books were stacked at strange angles on their shelves, away but not in a conventional system of filing. His guitars were propped against doorways and window sills, but not neglected. Michael smiled to himself; at least his desk was clean in a sense his mother could understand.

Rex turned around, saddling his rucksack across one shoulder as he faced his father. He was about to say he was ready when he saw the man studying the trophies above his bed. The youth watched his father in curiosity for some time. He had never seen him take such an interest in his various trinkets and mementos. His father was frowning.

"I never saw many of your football games, did I?" Rex could count the amount of times his father got away from work to watch him play on one hand. He didn't want to say that though. Since he'd started playing tennis again, the man hadn't missed a single match. He'd been great really, as good as his mother had been.

"It's okay. You were busy."

"I really wish I had." Michael said turning his head to look the teenager in the eye, "Sometimes I think I don't even know you." He indicated the trophies in a sweeping hand gesture, "I don't recognize any of these."

"The two on the end are MVP awards and the one on your right is for winning the under-fifteens state championship. You remember that one, right? I think I talked about it for like a month after we won." Rex watched him smile; yeah, he remembered. The teenager took a step forward and shrugged his shoulders. "You know, if you want to be bored to death tonight, I'm taking Emma to the movies to see some chick flick. You could come if you like." Michael frowned.

"Really? You want me to accompany you and your girlfriend to a movie like that? If you wanted to borrow ten bucks for snacks all you had to do is ask." Rex grinned sheepishly at the man's blunt perception.

"You're a good detective. No wonder you do this for a living." He pouted. "Can I borrow ten bucks?" Michael rolled his eyes to signal defeat before producing his wallet. Rex waited until the two fives were lodged in his back pocket before giving his personal ATM a hug in appreciation. His father was so surprised by the action he flinched. "Remember what you said about feeling guilty and not opening your mouth? Take your own advice." The youth said releasing his grip, "But if you really feel guilty about it, you could always spot me another five." Michael cuffed him lightly on the back of the head.

"I always thought your love was for sale."

"Mom used to supply me with Twinkies." The man wasn't sure if he was joking or not now; it sounded vaguely familiar. He raised his eyebrows.

"Is that what Emma does?"

"Sometimes." Michael's head was already conjuring up some disturbing images after that reply. He cringed before shaking it from his mind.

"Right, well, let's just go shall we?"

Rex nodded in total agreement. "Absolutely."

oOo

"Nothing?" Michael said trying to suspend his disbelief. Bird nodded.

"Nothing."

"Does the Captain know this?" Bird nodded his head.

"Yep. She's says concentrate on the backlog of paperwork." Michael scoffed.

"You can't tell me there's NO crime going on in LA today. There's always something." Bird leaned forward.

"Well, as far as we're concerned, today, there's NO crime, Michael. We've cleared all our cases in recent weeks. The Salami Guy was the last one we were tasked with." Michael forced himself to sit down at his desk. He blew out his cheeks and sighed.

"Well that sucks."

"You want to risk your ass getting shot off by a teenage gangbanger? C'mon Michael man, it's Friday, almost the weekend; let's just ride this day out." Bird had a credible argument. Michael took a deep breath.

"Alright fine. Let's start with the Cooper accident report from last month." He said already sifting through the pile in his in-tray. His partner smiled and nodded in approval.

"That's the spirit."

oOo

"And this lack of work bothered you?" Doctor Evans asked. Michael shrugged his shoulders.

"I wouldn't say bothered exactly. It was more like I felt guilty because I knew they were people out there suffering and I was sat at my desk filling out forms."

"But surely the mundane tasks are the ones most repeated in your line of work; it can't be action all the time."

"I just feel better when I'm busy. It challenges me."

"How did Rex get on with his match?"

"He lost. It was tight you know. A few points here and there just went against him."

"And how did he react afterwards?"

"He thought he'd let his mother down by losing. I told him everyone has their bad days. It's just a natural part of life."

"Did he take this advice well?"

"Well, to be honest Doctor, I did more hugging and hair-stroking than talking. He seemed to need that more than encouragement." Doctor Evan's usual sanguine look was complemented by a new addition as her eyes lit up in nothing less than excitement. She nodded.

"That sounds wonderful, Detective Britten. It seems as though you've really gotten through to Rex. He must consider you very beneficial in combating his emotional stress or he wouldn't be so open with you. And that sort of deepening connection between you should help put some distance between you and your dreams." Michael considered what his other psychiatrist had said, weighing it against Evans's message. Now they were both talking about putting distance between things.

"Doctor, can I ask you a question relating to psychiatry?" As normal, Doctor Evans did not appear taken aback by the query. She made an expressive gesture with her hand.

"It's an unusual request but you may ask."

"Do you guys have deadlines for patient breakthroughs?" She responded with a look of incredulity before giving any verbal feedback. Clearly her and her counterpart's methods were not comparable.

"It's…not common practice to run a patient against the clock when they require professional help, but on occasion it can be a powerful motivator." Michael decided he might as well tell her Lee's trump card.

"Doctor Lee says I've got a month to disown this reality or he'll declare me unfit to continue my duties as a police officer." Although Doctor Evans adopted a frown, her smile remained fixed in place as she gave her opinion.

"Really? That seems a defeatist attitude for a psychiatrist to adopt, especially with someone like you. Whenever you describe him he seems a very confrontational individual." She paused to consider something. Her smile widened as a possible explanation struck her. "Perhaps your subconscious is losing ground as you strengthen your relationship with Rex and is trying to intimidate you into maintaining the fantasy. This Doctor Lee could be its last line of defence. It is possible that were you to reject his counsel fully, it might prove enough to absolve this delusion once and for all."

"I don't feel like that. Hannah and I, we're still going from strength to strength. Aside from Doctor Lee threatening to remove me from my job, everything else is still right on track."

"So you're still moving to Oregon?"

"Yes, absolutely."

"Well, in that case it definitely strikes me as your subconscious battling to stop you moving on with your life. It knows sustaining your life with Hannah in an unfamiliar setting is too difficult a feat for it to accomplish and is trying to stall your decision to let go. You're almost home, Detective."

oOo

Was he almost home? Michael wondered what that statement really meant as he sat in the living room that night. Rex had gone to the movie theatre with Emma around seven. It was now close to eleven and he still wasn't home. Michael wasn't worried though. The chances of Rex getting kidnapped twice inside of three months was close to non-existent. There were no other murderers he knew of with a personal grudge against him or his family. Everything was fine. He looked around the room. Was this home?

When he thought about it in a logical way, the answer was obvious. Of course this was home. It had been home for the past fifteen years. If he stared out the window he would be confronted with the same view of the neighbourhood he had first seen as the father of a new-born baby and the same images he was exposed to every day of his life. At the moment, this house staked a bigger claim as his 'real' home than the structure he found with Hannah. All the furniture, fittings and decorations were still in place here. Nothing had been painted or altered in any way in almost five years. And Michael did enjoy waking up in this house and finding everything where it should be. With Hannah, he was forever tracking down keys and cutlery in and around boxes as they prepared to leave this place behind. And, for some reason, he also relished the silence that came when Rex went out for the night. It was calming. Peaceful. With Hannah, even though he loved her unconditionally, he always felt under pressure to initiate conversation and entertainment for the evening. Here, Rex entertained himself.

And he also found himself contrasting the empty room upstairs. Here it was not empty nor was likely to be in the near future. Michael soon found himself back in his son's room to compare it with what awaited him tomorrow, yet again. He sat on the foot of the bed gazing in wonder at the world Rex inhabited as he had done that morning. If Hannah were able to see what he saw right now, she would understand how difficult it was for him to let it go. Rex was remarkable, the boy of a thousand hobbies and interests with a space that reflected the complex nature of his personality. Hannah took her personality and charisma with her wherever she went, but Rex had a habit of leaving his on the places he went. Nowhere was this more evident than his bedroom.

He still remembered when it was nothing more than a cot and star-covered wallpaper. He recalled with fondness how it had evolved over the years to reflect his son's growth. There had been Tonka trucks and plastic dinosaurs, video games and Disney characters until he was ten. Rex then declared all of it too 'babyish' for his taste and demanded a change. So Hannah had thrown out everything he owned and replaced it with books and shelves, vases and a very grown-up atmosphere. Rex soon got the message and never threw a tantrum about it again. It had gradually filled with instruments and more adult-orientated books in the past two years as adolescence really tightened its grip on the youth. One constant through all the changes had been the colour green. Even now, the majority of Rex's clothes, accessories and possessions incorporated or were completely green in colour scheme. Michael glanced at his green wristband and smiled. Could he let her go, for this?

"Dad?"

Michael turned his head and found Rex stood in the doorway. Even from this distance, the teenager smelled strongly of female perfume. Evidently it had gone well with Emma. Either that or his son was cross-dressing. The man waved at him. "Hey. How'd it go?"

"Yeah, great. Why are you in my room?"

"I was just worried about you. Figured I'd wait up here until you came home."

"You really didn't have to do that. Emma's dad was just a bit late picking us up from the movie theatre, that's all."

"I believe you. You're too good to lie to me…most of the time anyway." Michael said with a grin referencing the missing ring incident. Rex returned the smile as he took off his jacket and hung it on the chair.

"Well, I got you change from your money as well." The youth gestured for his father to open his hand before dropping the grand total of two dollars and twenty-one cents in his palm. Michael nodded in approval.

"You did well. I'm impressed." Rex performed an exaggerated bow in mock appreciation.

"Thank you. I also do card tricks." He joked, kicking off his sneakers. Michael was curious.

"Can you do card tricks?" Rex, realizing his father was serious, was quick to nod.

"Yeah, uh…" He scanned the room quickly before grabbing the deck of playing cards from the shelves nearest the bathroom, "Here we go." The teenager fanned the deck out in one hand before taking a seat beside his guest. "Pick a card."

Michael chose the seven of clubs. Rex asked him to place his card on the bottom of the deck. The youth showed him the top card, revealing it to be the ace of diamonds. "Your card is going jump from the bottom to the top. Ready?" The teenager said. He was very enthusiastic about this trick. Michael nodded, watching intently. Rex tapped the top of the deck once. "Where's your card?"

"It's on the bottom still." His son smiled and shook his head. "It's on the top?" Again his answer was met with a shake of the head. Michael frowned. "Where is it?"

"Check your pocket." The man raised an eyebrow at the instruction. He had not felt anything. He reached in, his hand grasping something foreign. He produced a card. "Is that your card?" Rex inquired with a look of triumph. Michael shook his head.

"Nope. Four of spades." The teenager's face fell and he seemed genuinely crushed by his failure.

"I was sure I got it right…"

"Never mind, kiddo. Maybe next…" The man froze when he turned the card back to face him again. It had not left his hand. But now it was the seven of clubs. He looked over at Rex to see the teenager grinning from ear to ear.

"Pretty good, huh?" He said taking the card back and setting the deck to one side. Michael was still visibly stunned.

"When did you learn to do that?"

"Summer camp. They were running a magician's workshop for a week."

"That's amazing." Rex shrugged his shoulders at the praise.

"It's easy when you've practiced enough times."

oOo

Rex was more than happy to showcase his other acquired skills in a sort of impromptu variety show, exclusively for his father. He played both types of guitar, conducted drum solo, juggled bottles, completed a handstand push-up, performed various impressions, demonstrated his knowledge of biology and dinosaur types in a short quiz and astounded Michael by proving he could sow in repairing a tear in his jeans. It was not quite a thousand talents, but was at least six or seven. And the strangest part of it all was he had not been prompted; Rex had WANTED to do it. Whenever he finished one demonstration he was energetically looking for something else to exhibit and was getting very carried away with it by the close. It reminded his father of when the teenager was younger, an eager boy seeking his approval and recognition.

"I can also show you…"

"I think that's enough for one night, son. You should think about going to bed or at least taking a shower." Rex scoffed at the suggestion.

"It's the weekend! Now it's your turn." The man raised an eyebrow.

"MY turn?" The teenager nodded, taking a seat in his desk chair. He looked expectant.

"Yeah, show me something." Michael rolled his eyes and offered a slight shrug of his shoulders.

"All my talents are work-related. They require a crime to work." Rex grinned at him.

"Like the Salami Guy?" Michael smirked and nodded.

"Yeah, like the Salami Guy."

"So, tell me about your new investigation."

"I don't have one." Rex looked bewildered by the claim.

"You don't have one? You don't have a _single_ case to look into?"

"Not according to my boss."

"Wow. How lost do you feel right now? Do you guys get withdrawal symptoms with no bad guys to chase?" The teenager's sarcasm was not lost on the man. Rex was finally beginning to tease him as he had his mother. He smiled shaking his head.

"Not exactly."

"Well, you're not getting off that light. You gotta give me something." Michael considered what he could offer up that his son would enjoy. He thought hard for a moment, worried he had nothing to bargain with, and then relaxed when experiencing a moment of clarity.

"Well let's make a deal. You take a shower and get into bed and I'll tell you about your mother as a teenager."

"You didn't meet her until you were in your twenties."

"I was married to her for almost twenty years; you think we haven't told each other all our embarrassing secrets from youth?" Rex regarded him with the utmost suspicion, narrowing his eyes but maintaining his smile.

"This isn't just a trick to get me to go to bed, is it? You know, like when I was younger?" Michael shook his head.

"Nope."

"And you're not just going to ditch me and go to bed while I'm in the shower?"

"When have I ever done something like that?" The teenager responded with a laugh.

"Only every night you had to babysit me. 'Oh Rex I'll read you a story. Just get into bed and close his eyes. When you open them, I'll be there with a storybook to read.'" The teenager performed an eerily good impression of his father when paraphrasing him. He also had quite a good memory…or maybe Michael had just pulled that stunt dozens of times when he was little; Rex had been good at falling asleep when he closed his eyes for more than a minute back then.

"Well, this time we'll be adult about it I promise."

"Okay, but this is your last chance, old man. Take advantage of me one more time and no amount of snack money is going win me back." Rex said, standing up as he spoke and heading into his en-suite to shower. Doctor Lee had speculated on a dysfunction between him and Rex and a chance of a violent climax occurring because of it. Such a premonition had never sounded so ridiculous as Michael sat patiently on the bed, waiting for his son to reappear. He glanced at his watch: it was close to two a.m. It marked the latest time he had ever seen since first finding himself in this reality. It had been time well spent, without doubt.

Rex emerged at a minute to two, dressed in his usual makeshift pyjamas: a loose fitting green T-shirt he had been somehow wearing for two years without replacement and grey jogging pants from football practice the previous season. Despite the time and aftereffects of a hot shower on his brain, Rex was still eager to hear these stories he'd been promised. "So?" He said expectantly. Michael pulled back the covers for him. The teenager let his shoulders slump and a non-committal sigh to explain his reaction. "Really?" His father nodded.

"You in bed was part of the deal. Come on."

"This had better be good." Rex informed him as he reluctantly slid in under the covers and laid down, his head propped up by the pillow. Michael shifted his position until he was laid alongside his son, hands behind head.

"Oh yeah, it is. It might even be better than your show and tell presentation."

"We'll never know until you start. So start."

"Okay then…" Michael cycled through the funniest stories Hannah had ever told him, settling on what he considered the second-best. "When your mother was eleven…"

Michael was not, and had never been, a gifted storyteller. He had more of a head for facts and details rather than the framework to hang them off; it was partly why he was such a good detective. But he could quote Hannah virtually verbatim in her childhood stories because he'd heard them a thousand times before. And Hannah WAS a gifted storyteller. Rex had always preferred her to Michael on bedtime duties for that reason. So Michael followed her lead, adopting her tone and mannerism when regaling his son with adventures from her past. And it worked perfectly. Rex's eyes lit up at the right moments, he laughed a little in some moments and then laughed out loud at the part that served essentially as the punch line. He reacted precisely how Michael wanted him to and it made it so apparent to him why Hannah derived so much pleasure from telling him things like this; the teenager was a captive audience for anything remotely like this. It also emphasised why he missed her. An hour-and-a-half flew by, lost in the nostalgic haze Michael was creating for his son to savour. When it was over, Rex pointed out it was almost four in the morning and that they had spent close to five hours together.

"I wish I knew her like you did." The youth said as Michael prepared to dismiss himself for the night. Hannah was likely to kill him for sleeping late on Saturday; he'd promised they'd get up early and go for a run.

"And I wish I knew you like she did. I bet she knew all about your little one-man show abilities, huh?" Michael said signalling for his son to lie down properly so he could tuck him in. Rex had graciously decided to humour him in that respect.

"Yeah. She was always getting me to try new things. She said I was never allowed to quit anything until I'd tried it for two months. I owe a lot of things to her pushing me."

"Well, that two month thing was my idea." The teenager's eyes lit up in surprise.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I was the strict parent so I made up the rules you hated. She was just nice enough to enforce them for me." Rex considered something.

"So that one about having no more than twenty items in the laundry basket at a time…"

"My idea and that one about getting up early on Sunday to mow the lawn and vacuum the rugs."

"Wow, she plagiarised you."

"And I just plagiarised her in the stories so we're even. If we weren't married it'd probably be tantamount to copyright infringement or something. Anyway, I think it's time I left before I forget to."

"Thanks for hanging out with me, Dad. It means a lot." Michael rested a hand briefly on Rex's cheek and gently stroked it with his thumb. This was as visceral and real an experience as anything with Hannah. How could Doctor Lee ever consider this a fantasy? Sure it seemed idyllic now, but Michael had to work damn hard to achieve it and it still was far from perfect. The ultimatum was still swimming round his head, threatening him to abandon this beautiful boy he was fortunate enough to call his son or face exile from a job that had come to define his life. He doubted he would ever be strong enough to even disappoint this child, much less completely sever their relationship as he sat there with Rex.

"I love you, son." Rex looked a little puzzled by why his father had said it with such powerful conviction in his voice, but gave the standard response regardless.

"I love you too, Dad."


	4. Chapter 4

**Right of Way 4**

**Author's Note: More Hannah and Red Reality is coming, but for now, I want to concentrate on Michael and Rex. The majority of this part of the story is from Rex's view despite being in third person. It allows me to concentrate less on Michael's conflict in deducing which reality is real and more on Rex's relationship with the man. Rex is still feeling a little guilty about his relationship with his dad and decides he wants to spend the day with him. They go to Santa Monica and take part in a little foot race for certain stakes as well as reminisce about their mutual love for Hannah. **

**One more chapter should equal one more review to bring me neatly up to four. Please Read and Review. So far, feedback has been encouraging. **

**Enjoy.**

Rex woke up on Saturday thinking of Friday night. His date with Emma at the movies had been great. She was absolutely the most beautiful and amazing girl he had ever met, much less had the opportunity to date. Sometimes he thought he didn't deserve her. Sometimes he actually thought she was out of his league. It was weird that he could ever think that given that they had already been dating for almost three months. If Emma didn't like him, she could've and would've already walked away from their relationship. That she hadn't proved she was not looking for a quick fling, but still, Rex could not shake the feeling she was hiding something. He pushed his reservations to the back of his mind as he rolled out of bed.

After a quick foray to his bathroom, which included a shower and intricate study of his face for pimples, Rex decided he could not get back to sleep, even though it was barely after nine. He thought about getting breakfast, but knew he would be eating it alone - his father was not getting up for at least another three hours – and elected to stay in his room. He killed some time by launching into a long text conversation with Emma about the other night and offering up ideas for the rest of the weekend. He had been spending a lot of time outside of school with her recently. Almost all of his time actually. When he really thought about it, Rex realized that, aside from last night, he had barely seen more than five minutes of his father for the past week. Comfort after that awful tennis match did not count in the youth's head; dads did that sort of thing anyway and it really wasn't the same as hanging out together. When _was_ the last time they had just hung out together, watching TV or going to the mall? Rex was surprised by the conclusion he reached: Vampire Weekend concert last year. He had practically forced the man to take him too. That had been…eight months ago. Jesus, was he really _that_ bad to hang around with?

Rex's attention was drawn to the framed photograph on his wall, the one that depicted the teenager a couple of summers ago, smiling in his mother's arms. His father had a single hand on his shoulder. The youth frowned at the seemingly huge division in their dynamic; he had never really noticed how possessive he had been of her. He supposed that was what always happened when one parent took care of a kid's emotional needs on an almost exclusive level. It had always been his mom who listened to him, praised him, encouraged him and comforted him when he was ill, upset or angry. His father was there too, but Rex never forgot how constrained the man's time was by his police work. It made the teenager resent him. Rex felt less important than his father's job, even when he was a little kid.

It was at that moment, sat in his room reviewing the earlier stages of his childhood, that Rex made an interesting discovery. It had always been his mother who had attended to him because he naturally approached her _first_. It was only when she was not there that he forced himself to visit his father. His dad was probably more than willing to do exactly the same things his mother had, but never got the chance to show it because, for all intents and purposes, Rex ignored him. The teenager felt like an idiot for not noticing that, years ago. He also felt guilty for being so obtuse towards him, especially after last night.

Rex was sure he had heard every single one of his mother's stories from her childhood. He was positive he knew everything about her, because they had been so close-knit. His father had set that record straight. Last night, the teenager heard fifteen stories about his mom and her life he had NEVER heard before. They had not even sounded familiar to him. It proved that, whatever his dad was oblivious to about him as a person, the man knew his wife better than anybody else on Earth. The way he talked and reminisced about her also proved to Rex that his father missed her intensely, despite holding himself together like a man made of stone. It told the teenager he had thrown himself back into work so soon in order to hide his grief. Rex saw him in a whole new light, one he was glad to have uncovered without any prompting. The youth glanced at his alarm clock: ten o'clock. He got up and left his room.

Rex had been in his parents' room countless times before. He often used to lie down on an evening next to his mom and talk to her about his day and anything else on his mind. He was still doing it up until the night of the accident. Sometimes he found his father in the room, but not much; the man's caseload was demanding. Since the accident, Rex had avoided it like the plague. He knew his mom wasn't going to be waiting for him inside, curled up in bed reading a book. Those days were over. Permanently. He figured it would just be too painful to be in that room and know she wasn't there. But it wasn't like the room was nothing more than a dust-covered tomb nowadays; his father still slept in there. The teenager opened the door and went inside.

His father was still sound asleep in bed. Rex regarded this man he should have known much better as he slept. Michael Britten always slept on his front, with his face mashed into the pillow, but did not snore. He had done so when his wife was with them and he had not changed his habits since. Rex found it strange he knew that fact about his father. The teenager knew more about his sleeping habits than his favourite colour or food. It was almost funny in a way. He switched focus to the dresser. As usual, his father had carefully laid out all his essential items including his handgun, badge, cell phone, handcuffs and spare ammunition clips, despite it being the weekend. Rex traced a hand over all the objects, wondering how many men his dad had put in the handcuffs and how many suspects he'd been forced to shoot. He had asked the man once, but got no reply apart from the suggestion he do something else.

Rex moved on to the closet. He assumed that, when he opened the doors, he would find his mother's clothes and belongings absent. He was wrong. His father had not touched anything of hers. All her dresses, shoes and accessories were still where she had left them months ago. The teenager was stunned by that; he thought his dad had dealt with all her affairs in his typically professional manner. But he had not even been able to bring himself to dispense with a single item of her clothing. The youth was feeling worse about his behaviour in the early days after the funeral with every moment he stared at proof of his father's pain. The man had been so patient and understanding with him when he was uncommunicative and angry, giving him so much space. And the youth had just assumed his father did not care about her enough to be upset. After a few more minutes of exploring, the teenager decided he had been invasive enough and wandered over to the bed.

It was barely twenty past ten. Rex reached over from the far side and shook his father's shoulder.

"Dad?" There was no response or indeed any signs of life from the man. The teenager had expected this. He shoved him forcefully enough to move him.

"Dad!" He stood back as his action had the desired effect. His dad first peeled his face off the pillow before examining his left wrist. Rex assumed he forgot he had taken his wristwatch off, but then there was that strange green band he'd been wearing for weeks. The youth still hadn't figured out its purpose yet; his father was not the kind of man to make a fashion statement. Eventually, the man turned round to find him stood there. He rubbed his face briefly.

"Hey. What time is it?"

"Almost ten-thirty."

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah."

"So why are you in here?"

"I just…wanted to see you."

The man shrugged his shoulders as he sat up, "Here I am." He leaned over for his glass of water on the bedside table, part of his morning ritual. He sipped it before replacing the glass. "Anything else?" Rex considered.

"Can we, I mean, I thought it would be cool if we could hang out together for the day." His dad's reaction to this suggestion was to adopt a _who are you_ expression, the kind of look that always meant it was the least likely suggestion he expected to hear.

"Emma dump you or something last night?" He asked only half-joking. The teenager was quick to shake his head.

"No. I just think we should spend some time together, but just the two of us." Rex was concerned by how bewildered his father's facial expressions were becoming.

"Shouldn't I be the one trying to convince you to spend time with me?" The man asked. The youth shrugged.

"I don't know. I just know that Mom would want one of us to do this. Whether I ask you or you ask me isn't important so long as we do it. What do you say?"

"Spend the day with my teenaged son? It's a novelty, I'll give you that." Rex was leaning towards the notion his father was really against the proposal. The man pulled back the covers and swung his legs over the side. He turned back to look at the teenager and smiled. "I'd love to."

oOo

Breakfast had been nice, but too short on conversation in Rex's opinion. His father seemed to still be suffering the effects of a late night and somewhat preoccupied with another matter. The teenager tried to make small talk by recommending a few places they could visit and some things to do, but found he was almost as bad in terms of tiredness. Despite that, they got through it and, after getting dressed and his dad grabbing a strong cup of black coffee, they were in the car and ready to start the day properly.

"So, where do you want to go?" The man asked buckling his seatbelt. Even though Rex had suggested several possibilities at breakfast, the teenager had not committed to any single place. He was worried his father would dismiss it with some kind of logistical retort, _it's too far away_ or words to that effect. Still, what he offered as a reply was not the most well thought out answer.

"Ever been to Hollywood?" The man rolled his eyes immediately.

"No. Are you saying you want to go to Hollywood?"

"Maybe. I mean, we live in LA; how come we've never been to the Staples Center or Hollywood before?"

"Because the city of Los Angeles covers an area of almost six-hundred-and-fifty square miles and we live on one side of it. Getting 'across town' in LA takes hours if not days." Rex had forgotten the other reason why he did not like to hang out with his father in the outside world; the man was a know-it-all when it came to anything to do with this city. Now it was the teenager's turn to roll his eyes.

"Okay. So where _can_ we go?" His father smiled. He started the engine.

"I know a place."

oOo

The 'place' his father knew was not, as Rex had wrongly expected, a boring park or dull museum. The place was Santa Monica; somewhere the teenager vaguely recalled visiting when he was exceptionally young. Today it was as crowded and teeming with lively attractions as was possible for that time of year. They had come directly down the Wiltshire Boulevard to downtown Santa Monica and, although traffic had inevitably slowed their progress, they arrived before mid-afternoon. After a hellacious time trying to locate and seize a parking space during which Michael amazingly never lost his temper, the two of them started the day on Third Street Promenade.

The car journey down had been less about idle conversation and more about a test of Rex's geographical knowledge. His father never revealed where they were going, hinting to the teenager that if he knew LA then he knew where they were going. The youth was not frustrated by this attitude, just irritated that he actually did not know his own city as well as he thought. His dad however appeared very amused by his son's guesses, particularly as they became less educated as time went on. Eventually, they were nothing more than wild stabs in the dark. He actually laughed out loud when the teenager came up with Long Beach as their final destination. Not that it mattered now; this place was phenomenal.

They didn't stay on the promenade for very long. After a brief tour of the shops and a late lunch from one of the innumerable restaurants and eateries, Michael moved them onto some of the city's more unique attractions. They toured both the Santa Monica Looff Hippodrome and the Civic Center, where to Rex's unending joy there was a vintage motorbike exposition taking place. He spent almost two hours chatting to the owners of Triumph bikes and the best ways to optimize the performance of his own. His father was as patient as he was enthusiastic and happily stood back while Rex immersed himself in a world the man barely understood. If he hadn't remembered he had intended to spend time _with_ his father instead of merely being _near_ him, Rex might have stayed indefinitely. But, using all the willpower he could muster, the youth managed to tear himself from the exposition and turn his attentions back to his dad. They left shortly before five and headed straight for the beach. It was packed with tourists and locals alike, all of them basking in the beauty of the renowned Californian sunshine on Santa Monica's golden sands. It was sort of a clichéd sight, an image that was forever depicted on postcards and souvenirs, but was breath-taking nevertheless.

"This is beautiful." Rex remarked as they began walking across the sands. His father nodded his head in total agreement.

"Yes, it is. You know, before you were born, your mom and I, we used to come here all the time, especially when we first started dating. She loved to swim. You want to go swimming?"

"I forgot to pack my swim shorts with me…and anything else at all."

"Yeah, well, I sort of figured you might so…" Michael shoved the backpack he'd been carrying everywhere with them since the outset into his son's chest, "I packed everything we'd need for a day at the beach. Why don't you go change and I'll meet you by the snack bar over there?"

When Rex got into the changing cubicle, he was interested as to how far his dad had prepared for this eventuality. Inside the backpack were two huge beach towels, sun screen, sandals, a couple of bottles of water and the teenager's favourite pair of swim shorts, the ones he'd gotten for his fourteenth birthday. His father had covered all the angles, yet again. The man had always been meticulous like that. He was organized in a way few other people could manage, even in the darkest moments of his life. Rex changed quickly and wandered back out on the beach to meet back up with his dad. He found the man already wearing a pair of black swim shorts and barefoot. He was carrying his shoes and pants in his hand.

"I get the right pair of shorts?" The man inquired in a hopeful tone. Rex nodded.

"Was this your plan all along?"

"What makes you say that?"

"That backpack hasn't moved from the trunk in almost two months. You've been wanting to take me here for a while, haven't you?"

"Can you blame me? It's gorgeous down here." Just as his dad finished speaking, two stunning women in colourful bikinis strode past them. They both stared before smiling at each other in wordless agreement.

oOo

"Hold still."

"Do I really have to do this?"

"For a kid who lives in LA, you're pretty white. I don't want you burning." The man pointed out as he continued to apply sun screen to the teenager's back. Rex rolled his eyes.

"You're acting like I'm five."

"And you're acting like you're five. Hold still. I'll be done in another minute." Michael began rubbing in the last of it across the top of his son's shoulders, "Your mother did this for you all the time. I never heard you complain then."

"Just because I didn't say anything, doesn't mean I didn't hate it just as much." He juddered when his father smacked him on the back for getting just a little too uppity. He got the message instantly.

"Sorry."

"That's better. There, done. You can now go and fry yourself to a crisp." Rex eagerly pushed himself off the towels they'd set up and stared longingly at the ocean before him. He turned back to look at his dad.

"You coming?"

"I gotta watch our stuff. You go on." Rex was starting to think his father was missing the point of hanging out _together_. He decided to be stubborn.

"Not without you. Just put it in one of the lockers and we'll get it after." The man sucked his teeth at the suggestion.

"I don't know, son. I mean I'd hate to show you up in front of all these teenage girls, you know," He shrugged his shoulders, "Because I'm a better swimmer than you." Rex grinned, shaking his head.

"You wish!"

"Wanna bet your chores on it?"

"Anytime old man!"

"Okay, if I can beat you out to that marker buoy and back, you do ALL the chores tomorrow." Michael gestured to the red buoy less than fifty metres from the shoreline. Rex regarded it for a less than a second before offering his retort.

"And when you lose?"

"Same deal. Game on?" The man asked extending his hand. The teenager did not even hesitate in shaking it.

oOo

"You really think wearing sun screen is a disadvantage in this race?" Michael inquired as Rex applied it copiously to his father's back. The teenager smiled.

"You're not having any edge over me in this. If I have to wear sun screen, so do you."

"Well, it didn't take me this long to put it on you."

"That's because there's more _of_ you to cover."

"You saying I'm fat?"

"Done. You ready?" Rex said propping the bottle against one of the lifeguard towers. His dad rubbed his hands together.

"We go on the count of three." The man announced as they stood side-by-side on a line drawn into the sand. Rex put his strongest foot forward and scanned for immediate pitfalls. There were a couple of kids playing in the sand only twenty feet away that he had to side-step. He looked over at his dad's intended path; it was full of Asian tourists. The youth smiled to himself. He had this one. He had it won. He waited for the count.

"One…"

"Two…"

"Three!"

Rex practically galloped off at a ridiculous pace, knowing he had to create enough distance between them to avoid those kids and stay in touch. He didn't look over to see his father's progress; it would only slow him down. Less than fifteen seconds later, he was only a few feet from the water. He desperately wanted to look, but resisted as he smashed into the incoming waves to get out far enough to swim properly. He opted for breaststroke because he knew he could maintain a quick pace over the remaining distance. Butterfly was quicker, but a real lung-burner. If it came down to the wire, Rex would pull it out. He blocked out all distractions as he closed on the buoy, focusing all his energy on what he needed to do. As he touched the buoy, Rex was aware he was less than a second in front. As soon as he slapped it, his father echoed the action.

Nearing the shore, the two were neck and neck, something Rex had always feared would happen; his dad was ludicrously fit. An image of the man chasing down a former national one-hundred metre sprint champion on foot and tackling him to the ground suddenly flooded the teenager's mind as the finish line grew closer with every stroke. Rex bit the bullet and switched to butterfly with less than fifteen metres to go. As the lactic acid began to pool in his muscles and every gasp of air felt like his last, the youth feared he had made his push too early. A sharp glance placed the shoreline only ten feet away. He powered on and finally found sand beneath his feet. He staggered to his feet and ran the last way in to the start line. He could see the line and knew he had it won. Then his father inched half-a-foot in front of him and crossed the line, ripping the victory from his grasp at the last possible moment.

Rex collapsed from the effort, letting himself roll onto his back and take huge, panting breaths to try and get his heart back under control. Dammit, beaten at the death by a man almost three times his age. How embarrassing.

"You okay, kiddo?" Rex heard his dad say in between two shallow breaths from above him. The teenager nodded, still unable to speak. "Just so you know, you lost that one."

"Yeah…noticed…"

"Come on, get up."

oOo

"So, aside from getting your butt kicked, have you enjoyed spending the day with your old man?" Michael inquired as they drove back home just after dusk.

"You know actually I did. It was actually cool to hang out with you today." His father raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.

"There's a first. I thought you might be distraught at being separated from Emma for almost twenty-four hours." Rex smirked at the man's attempt at humour.

"Yeah well, I'm not. And what about you? You're not going to break into a rash from having too much _fun_ are you?" Teasing his dad was starting to feel like a natural part of their relationship, something Rex had relished doing with his mom. And now, even his father was starting to get the hang of doing it.

"I always have fun when I'm humiliating my star athlete son. You should know that."

"Yeah, I'm still not convinced that you didn't cheat at the end of that."

"Youth is no substitute for experience, kiddo. Twenty years of running these streets and swimming these shores mean I always have the edge when it comes to competition." Rex was intrigued by an idea.

"Did you and Mom ever do races like this? You know, like when you were dating?"

"Oh yeah, absolutely. Your mother was an athlete in every sense of the word. Competition was like her natural state of being. You know we were forever arguing about who you owe your competitive fire to when you started playing tennis and then football? That's how I met her, through competition."

"You never played tennis, Dad." Rex corrected him with a slight scoff.

"Yeah, no duh genius. I mean I saw her at a tennis meet in LA and made her a little bet. If she lost, she had to go out on a date with me. If I lost, I had to…uh, I had to be her biggest fan in her finals match the next day. You know, painting her name on my chest, shouting ridiculous slogans and generally being unbearably loud."

"So, how was that?" Michael furrowed his brow.

"You see when I tell other people that story they naturally assume I won the bet and that's why I ended up marrying her, but you just assume I didn't." Rex knew his mother. She did not take competition lightly, even for a friendly wager. Still, he gave his dad the chance to tell the truth or lie about what he was sure happened next.

"Well, did you?" He asked trying to make it sound like he might entertain the possibility the man could have won.

"No. She totally blew me away. And the next day I honoured my side of the bet and got myself ejected from the stands and on page seven of the local gazette. My superiors didn't see the funny side of it."

"So what was the bet exactly?"

"Sing the national anthem backwards." Rex blinked. He had been expecting some kind of physical contest between them, running or throwing or something like that. Singing threw him a little; his Mom had been many things, but a singer was definitely NOT one of them. She could barely hold a note, like him.

"What, you mean like literally backwards, from the last word to the first?"

"Yeah."

"How far did you get?"

Michael laughed shaking his head before responding. "About four lines in."

"And Mom?"

"She finished the whole thing."

"Oh my god!" Rex exclaimed, laughing in a mix of disbelief and amusement, "She schooled you! She totally kicked your ass on that one, huh?"

"She kicked my ass on a lot of things. Where we should live, what school you should go to, when to stay in, when to go out; the woman took no prisoners."

"So what did you actually have a say in?"

"I picked your name. You're called Rex because I told her that was your name. She wanted to call you Joshua or something earthy. But I bullied her into letting me call you Rex. So _I_ kicked _her_ ass on that exchange." Rex got the impression that particular victory was a very proud moment for his father. But the teenager was confused over something.

"She always said she picked my name." Michael dismissed the notion with a flippant hand gesture.

"She was lying! She was just jealous I picked the perfect name and she didn't."

"So I'm Rex Britten because you made her change her mind." His father gave him an exaggerated sigh.

"Do not tell me you hate your name, okay? I am _not_ calling you Joshua." Both of them laughed a little at the idea. Rex could not even begin to imagine going by any other name but his own. Nothing else sounded right.

"Rex is cool. It means 'king' in Latin. You know I'm the only Rex in my school?"

"Of course you are. There can only be one king at a time and you're it." Rex rolled his eyes and smirked at a perfect example of hyperbole.

"Yeah, whatever." He said dismissively.

"No really. One day Rex, you're going to take over the world. Anything less would be exactly that." His father's voice held nothing but sincerity in what it was suggesting. It actually gave Rex goose bumps just thinking about it.

"Dad, I'm not that kind of guy."

"I'm just saying, if you wanted to be that guy, you could be. I believe in you, all the way." Suddenly Rex felt incredibly pressured. All dads thought their children were unique in some way that made them exceptional, but this was _his_ dad saying it. One thing he had come to realize in recent months, especially with the kidnapping and his ability to cope with such trauma was that Michael Britten really was an exceptional man. And he was an exceptional man who gave the impression he thought exactly the same of his wife, something he and his son shared. It made him nervous that he was the result of a union between two such amazing people. It was a lot to live up to and he wasn't sure he could deliver.

"Why would you ever think something like that?" Michael looked over at him, frowning.

"Because you're mine and your mother's kid. You're special, Rex. You always have been."

"I just don't feel all that special if I'm honest."

"Rex, I know all about your work down that volunteer shelter, manning the phones. Your mother told me how you stopped that girl from killing herself. That takes skills and determination most teenagers don't have. It takes someone remarkable to do something so subtle and risky and come out of it okay. Never think that you're a nobody. You could never be that person."

Rex just sat there in silence for the rest of the trip. He could not think of anything to say in reply to match the magnitude of his father's last statement. Today, the teenager had really gotten a sense of how Michael Britten had become a legend in his department, why his mother had married him and how lucky he was to have such a man to call his dad. And he also knew exactly how great his father's love and faith in him really was. It had been an eye-opener to say the absolute least. They got home just after eleven.

oOo

"So," Michael said putting his car keys on the hallway table, "What are you going to do now?"

"Have you recorded America's Next Top Model for me?" Rex inquired with a smile. Michael let out a reluctant sigh.

"Yes, unfortunately I have. I suppose you want to watch it _alone_?" The man was hinting as subtly as possible, but it was still a little blunt for Rex's taste. He blushed slightly.

"I've got a girlfriend." He said in place of an actual excuse.

"Please don't tell me you want to ogle beautiful women with your old man. I think I'm thirty years too old to do that kind of thing." Michael said hanging up his coat. The teenager shrugged.

"We could watch Kitchen Nightmares instead."

"Let's watch half-and-half because you owe me early morning chores tomorrow. You'll need your rest for that let me tell you. Deal?" The man said with a warm smile. Rex returned the gesture and nodded.

"Deal."


	5. Chapter 5

**Right of Way 5**

**Author's Note: Here is the investigation that is going to drive the remaining 9,000 words of this story. It starts with a homicide in the red reality and ends with an epiphany in the green reality with elements of both worlds beginning to overlap the closer Michael comes to solving the case. There will be hard choices and paranoia building as the man struggles to keep things straight between the ears, but an ultimate realisation awaits him should he last that long. **

**The subsequent chapters of this story will incorporate BOTH realities to help speed up the plotting and development and will also offer a faster pace in terms of action. At present this story has a 30,000 word cap on it. Should people enjoy it, that cap may be extended…**

**A special mention must be made to an avid fan of Awake and loyal reader of this story. Awakening Reality, thank you for your lengthy and intricate reviews of this story's chapters. I thoroughly enjoyed reading your comments and hope you find this meets with your high expectations. For the rest of you reading this, congratulations for following it this far and please continue to read and review.**

**Enjoy.**

"You had no cases?" Doctor Lee said, repeating back what he had just heard with some amusement. Michael gave a slight shrug of his shoulders.

"I had no cases at the precinct."

"I think that breakthrough I've wanted to see for so long is actually here, Detective Britten. There's no longer a puzzle for you to solve as to which reality is real anymore; your subconscious has seemingly run out of tricks. Tell me how about the relationship with your son. Is there a conflict or is everything almost too good to be true?" Michael was resistant to confirming the latter option as the correct description, but had little alternative.

"We're getting along just great."

"I admit I was wrong at our last session when I said to burn bridges with your son's memory; it would appear that moving closer to him and therefore mending your unresolved conflicts have put you on the verge of finally accepting his passing. I must say I'm astonished by your progress." Doctor Lee was quick to reverse his position and then spin what Michael had told to work into his theorising. The man was wary.

"You really think that's what's happening here, Doctor?" Lee frowned.

"Why? What do you think is happening here?"

"I'm thinking it was just a slow day at the office. They come around every few months and only ever last twenty-four hours. It'll probably be back to normal tomorrow." The psychiatrist seemed curious.

"Have you had a slow day since the accident?"

"Well no, but it's a busy period for us anyway. Crime statistics are always up during this time of the year." Doctor Lee seemed to have lost interest in this particular avenue of conversation as evidenced by his lack of attention at Michael's answer. He changed topic abruptly.

"How was your weekend?"

"It was good. Hannah and I went up to Oregon so I could see where she wants us to move to. It seems perfect for our needs."

"And when are you planning on relocating?"

"As soon as the sale of the house can be finalized." Michael was waiting for his companion to begin a psychology comparison between what he was being told and his own professional opinions on their symbolism. But Lee continued in the same small-talk manner like a fair-weather friend or work colleague might, something he was neither of to Michael.

"Do you have a buyer?"

"We have several interests that could turn into potential buyers, yes." Doctor Lee raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"So it may only be a matter of weeks?"

"In the best case scenario, yes."

"Your wife must be pleased about this fairly rapid transition. What about work?"

"Captain Harper has already spoken to her counterpart in the town we're going to. She says they're more than happy to accommodate me in a similar position to one here. There may even a chance of promotion."

"So I may be talking to a future Sergeant?"

"You may."

"Now that, Detective,_ is_ progress in all senses of the word." Doctor Lee nodded in satisfaction; he seemed almost proud of his patient. "You're almost home. Don't falter now." Michael stiffened at the warning.

o

"So, what do you think?" Vega asked his veteran partner as they stood in their latest crime scene to piece together yet another sticky end to human life. Michael was still distracted by Doctor Lee echoing his counterpart's insistence he was almost home. He did not feel closer to an ending in either reality, just a sense he was sinking deeper into each with every passing moment, entrenching himself further to such an extent he would never be able to leave. Regardless of his mind pondering such philosophical notions, the man had taken in the crime scene. He regarded the victims for a second time.

They were at the residence of the Kings, a wealthy, affluent family living in suburbs not dissimilar to Michael's. The family consisted of Mr and Mrs David King and their teenage son, Alex. According to his statement, the sixteen-year-old Alex arrived back from school to find both his parents murdered in the hall in what looked to be a burglary gone awry. He said he had last seen them that morning, around eight. Going by the pathologist's analysis of the bodies, they had been dead some eight or nine hours, an opinion supported by the fact they were still dressed in sleeping attire. Both had been killed at roughly the same time, the weapon of choice nothing but a simple kitchen knife left at the scene. The murders seemed to be partially premeditated, judging by the amount of stab wounds inflicted. Mr King had received twelve and Mrs King fifteen which also pointed to a personal connection to the victims, perhaps a close friend or neighbour. Michael had a clear idea of the perpetrator. He turned to Vega.

"You were present when the kid was being interviewed by the liaison?"

"Yes."

"And what do you think of him as far as this case goes?" Efrem Vega knew his partner did not want a personal profile. Michael wanted the younger man's honest opinion on whether or not Alex King might have committed parricide and then staged a burglary attempt. So Vega pulled no punches.

"Yeah, of course I suspected him when I arrived on scene. The timing's pretty neat; kid could've killed them before he left in the morning and come back after school to phone it in. More than likely their wills have him inheriting their entire estates and it could simply be a case of anger driven by neglect or a desire to be free of dominating parents."

"But you're not convinced."

"This kid is in pieces, Michael. That statement of his I back-briefed to you earlier took almost two hours to get out of him. He's really messed up over this. Don't get me wrong; maybe he's just a fantastic actor, but I don't buy it. What I do buy is that this kid is integral to getting a lead on this. Maybe you could talk to him. You might be able to relate because…you know…" Michael nodded to spare his partner needing to spell out the obvious common grief he and this orphaned boy shared. Vega directed him to the boy's room on the second floor, away from all the forensic investigators and police detectives infesting the house. "Good luck, Michael." Vega said patting him on the back as they arrived at the door. Michael watched the younger man walk back downstairs before venturing to knock.

"Alex? My name is Detective Britten. Can I come in?" There was a long silence before a strained voice offered a response.

"I already told the other detective everything I know."

"Yeah, I'm sure you did, but this isn't about what happened today. I just want to talk about your parents in general."

"I really don't feel like it."

"Look, I know how you feel right now. I lost my son a few months ago in a car accident and I keep thinking that it was my fault. I kept thinking I should've done something to stop it happening, but I didn't. Don't do that to yourself. It only leads to bad things." There was another silence, longer than the first. Michael stepped back from the door when he heard the lock turning. A moment later, the door opened up enough space for a red-eyed and distraught-looking teenage boy's face to fill the gap. Alex regarded the man stood before him briefly.

"You lost your son?"

"Yes."

"How old was he?"

"Fifteen."

"Jesus."

"Yeah I know. Can I talk to you, please?" Alex proceeded to fully open the door and wandered back over to his bed. Michael made a quick appraisal of the teenager. The kid was fair-haired, about five-ten and maybe one hundred and fifty pounds. He had a lean build that clearly indicated an athletic background in sport and was still dressed in his school uniform. The uniform was smeared with blood. At a glance, Michael didn't buy him as the killer either. Alex was genuinely upset and clearly still in shock over what had happened. The man had interviewed enough witnesses and suspects to know the difference between true emotion and crocodile tears, even if the margins were very slight. Alex was, as Vega had said, in pieces. It made him think about Rex's feelings after the funeral. He checked his wrist: red reality. He could not afford to become confused with such a vulnerable witness; muddled or mixed details often invited a breakdown of communication and trust, especially where vital information was involved.

"So, would you be able to talk me through a typical day in your parents' lives? What was their daily schedule?" Michael asked in as encouraging and patient a voice as possible. Alex wiped away further evidence of tears before replying.

"They, uh, both worked from home. My dad was…" The teenager paused mid-sentence to swallow down his anguish at having to use the word 'was'. He composed himself. "My dad was a stock broker. He did all the shares stuff on the big stock exchange sites. My mom was a consulting interior designer. She had a website where people could contact her and arrange meetings. They usually worked from nine in the morning to around four in the afternoon, unless there was a meeting or consultation they had to deal with." Michael nodded in appreciation. He patted the boy briefly on the shoulder.

"Okay, Alex, that's good. Now, do you know whether either your mom or your dad had a meeting or consultation scheduled on either today or yesterday?"

"I really can't remember. I told the other detectives that much." Michael sat down on the bed beside his companion.

"That's normal. Let me try asking another question. If you had to put a number on the amount of times your dad dealt with clients in person, what would it be?" He watched the youth consider the question carefully. Michael's query appeared to have, at least temporarily, alleviated the grief somewhat. Alex gave his reply.

"Like once."

"Once a week?"

"No, like once in my whole life. Normally he just deals with them on the phone or through Skype or something."

"And when was this meeting?"

"It was…yeah it was only a couple of weeks ago. I came home from school and the guy was just leaving. I remember asking my dad who he was. He told me it was just an old friend, even though he didn't look too happy about it." Vega's instincts had been right; this kid was the lynchpin to this investigation. Michael now just needed to get the finer details so that a viable suspect could be created and then traced.

"You ever see this guy before then?" Alex shook his head.

"I don't think so, but his face looked kind of familiar, a little bit like déjà vu."

"Can you describe him?"

"Um…yeah, I think so. He was definitely Latin-American, like that detective downstairs. He wasn't big, maybe my height and had brown eyes, a goatee and was wearing a pretty expensive suit."

"Did he say anything to you as he was leaving?"

"No, but it seemed in a hurry to be somewhere. He got straight in his car and left."

"Can you tell me anything about the car?"

"It was a stretch limo, complete with a chauffeur if that helps. It might've been a Lincoln, but they all look alike to me."

"And this man was the only man your father ever had a business meeting with that you can remember?"

"Yeah. Normally he only ever deals with them on the phone."

"Can you tell me anything else about this man that might be of some use?"

"Uh…not the guy, but there was something weird about his chauffeur. The guy was like seven feet tall, black and had green contacts in. I knew they were contacts because of the colour; nobody has that colour for their eyes." The description rang a bell with Michael. He could not quite place the name, but such startling physical characteristics were bound to turn up somebody. It was a start. Alex's input had been invaluable and made Michael wonder…

"Alex, did you tell the other detectives all this? About the Latino man and the chauffeur?"

"No. I'm not that great under pressure. And there were like four of them in the room with me. Do you think they're involved somehow?"

"Maybe. At the moment it's too early to say for definite, but it's a good lead for us to follow. Have my colleagues explained to you what happens now?" Alex thumbed his shirt despondently.

"They said my clothes need to be processed by forensics for foreign DNA traces and stuff. I think they're waiting for me to take them off. Then I need to come down the station for more questioning. They said they'd phone for a child advocate." He sounded sombre and resigned to an unpleasant fate, something Michael found unsettling.

"They said you'd been up here, alone, for almost two hours after they questioned you. Have your relatives not been informed yet?" Alex let out a small laugh to the inquiry, like it was somehow funny. The teenager shook his head.

"I don't have any relatives. Both my parents were only children and both sets of grandparents are dead. They said I'd have to go into foster care until I turned eighteen." Michael hated being in this situation, one that only offered either an insincere comment about a brighter future or an awkward silence as possible answers to Alex's dilemma. He knew that the youth would like neither reply and was unsure of how to proceed. Then he thought of Rex and how Hannah had found strength in him to help herself cope about their lost boy. The man put a hand on Alex's shoulder in a firm, sincere gesture of support. The teenager regarded him with an expression that straddled uncertainness and curiosity. Michael nodded at him and spoke.

"Don't let this be the end of who you are. If you go down into the depths, if you let yourself think it's okay to stop trying, just remember your parents and what they wanted you to achieve. If you check out, you fail them. But, you're not in this alone either. Everyone is going to want to help you from now on. Don't shut yourself off or it will just intensify the pain. Let them help. You understand me Alex? Don't give up just yet." Alex's face told Michael he was slightly comforted by the message. The youth nodded in understanding and perhaps resolution.

"Did you go through all that with your son? When you lost him?"

"Yes. It wasn't great for my wife either, let me tell you."

"But now you're okay?" Alex inquired with an inkling of hope in his tone. Michael sighed, moving his hand from the teenager's shoulder to the back of his neck, squeezing it softly. The action was highly unprofessional and best left to someone who worked closely with children, but the man knew from experience it could only help.

"I'm better, but I'm not okay. Being okay happens a little further down the road." He said it in an assured manner, making it clear that he was a man Alex could trust and rely on. It was partly this assuredness that prompted the youth's next question. It was somewhat hesitantly delivered, but only because Alex was trying to phrase in such a way as to not sound so needy.

"Detective Britten, if I think of something else, can I call you?" Michael knew what the boy meant was _if I get scared, or lonely or depressed, can we talk like this again?_ Michael took away his hand and reached for his notebook, nodding his head.

"Sure. I'm writing down both my office number and my cell number for you. If you think of anything you need to tell me, please call day or night. I'll pick up the phone, okay?" The man handed over the piece of paper for Alex to take. The boy studied the numbers for several minutes after relieving it from his companion's hand. Finally he nodded in satisfaction.

"Yeah, I got it. Thank you."

"We'll find the people who did this Alex and we'll bring them in. I promise."

o

Michael knew that even with such a specific lead to chase, closing this case would not be done in a day. There was a chance that these suspect characters Alex had described could be innocent of any wrong doing. Maybe they were going in the wrong direction with this investigation altogether. Unfortunately they found no other viable leads or suspects to examine and instead had to pin all their hopes on this business associate and his chauffeur. Back at the office, it was Vega and not Michael who made the breakthrough.

"I think I found our chauffeur." The younger man said slipping a printout of a rap sheet across his partner's desk. Michael took inventory of the information as Vega referenced the most pertinent points. "Guy's name is Ronald Burgan, a forty-one year old former circus performer whose height is listed as six-ten. Part of his gimmick in the circus was wearing green contacts so they could bill him as the green-eyed giant of Africa, even though he was born in Florida. Apparently, the circus company he worked for cut him loose after repeated assaults on fellow performers and a problem with theft. He first turned up here in LA sometime around '97 or '98, arrested and charged with petty theft, remanded on bail. Then between '98 and '03 they were three or four short stints in jail for small-time stuff. Since then, he's been pretty clean." Michael turned from the sheet to shoot his companion a quizzical stare.

"Pretty clean?"

"Burgan was a suspect in a homicide investigation a few years back. They questioned him twice but couldn't shake his alibi. At that time he worked for a guy named Alberto Ramos, a Mexican career criminal with ties to organised crime syndicates in LA."

"This Ramos guy fit with the kid's description?"

"This Ramos guy is dead, Michael, going on two years now, a straight-up hit."

"Okay, so who does Mr Burgan work for currently?"

"Enrique Espinosa, a Columbian businessman based in Westside."

"Sounds like a good fit. We got any criminal record on Espinosa?"

"Not in this country. But it's safe to say if the man's a respectable businessman he wouldn't be hiring murder suspects to ferry him to his appointments. I've already arranged a visit to meet with the man at his home." This was too perfect a scenario for Michael to swallow. Sure, he still had Hannah's advice about overthinking things floating round his head, but this was different. There had to be complications here, some piece of information he was not seeing. He voiced his concerns immediately to Vega.

"This seems a little too easy to me. These guys are too good a fit for a crime like this."

"You think the kid was lying?"

"No. But this feels too clean."

"Well, once we meet with this guy, maybe we'll find the dirt huh?" Vega proposed with a lop-sided grin. Michael, appreciative of his partner's efforts at lightening the tone of the conversation, gave him a smile and nodded.

"Yeah, maybe."

o

Enrique Espinosa made his home in Beverley Hills, surrounded by the richest and most powerful individuals in Los Angeles. Both Michael and Vega were quick to notice this and were soon wary of what sort of connections and influence a man in such a position could command. They would have to be courteous, regardless of Espinosa's attitude towards them. They were greeted by a fleet of vehicles that cost more than a hundred of their annual salaries combined as they pulled into the driveway.

"What kind of business is this guy in?" Michael asked as they approached the front door of Espinosa's sprawling mansion. Vega shrugged his shoulders.

"Apparently the man's an entrepreneur, but even if he was the most amazing entrepreneur in the history of mankind, the guy wouldn't have million-dollar cars on his front lawn like this. This stinks of dirty money."

"Well, let's just hold off on the assumptions until we finish the interview."

"Okay, boss."

They were met by a servant at the door, a Hispanic man called Rico with an intricate tribal tattoo on his left forearm, and directed into what he called the reception area. He told them to wait in the hall while he informed his master of their arrival and business. They barely had time to begin a conversation when Rico reappeared with Espinosa beside him. The businessman was as Alex had described, roughly five-ten, had brown eyes and sported a black goatee. He was currently wearing an open linen shirt and swim shorts, evidently having just come from the pool area. When he went to greet them, Michael noticed the open and aggressive body language of a man with enough confidence in himself to be unafraid of anything he encountered.

"Gentleman, welcome to my home. I am Enrique Espinosa." He said in a practiced, level tone of voice, choosing to shake Michael's hand first.

"Detective Britten." Michael said making a note of how firm and tight Espinosa's grip was. He was already asserting himself as the dominant one in this encounter. Espinosa nodded.

"Detective Britten, nice to make your acquaintance." The businessman's gaze fell swiftly on the younger man to Michael's right. He extended his hand. Vega did not hesitate, holding the host's gaze with the same intensity that Espinosa was directing towards him.

"_Estes Colombiano?"_ The Colombian inquired as he shook Vega's hand. The rookie detective shook his head without blinking.

"_No, soy puertorriqueño. Detective Efrem Vega." _Michael could hear the steely edge to his partner's voice that said he did not trust this man, despite having just met him. There was also a definite tension from Espinosa's side, which made the man think that maybe his partner and this potential suspect knew one another. Following a short but emotionally charged silence between Vega and Espinosa, the Colombian gestured to the lounge.

"Shall we talk in here?" He said whilst entering the room anyway. Michael shot Vega a concerned glance, asking a question without needing to verbalize it. The younger man saw this and nodded to say he was okay. Vega's eyes told his partner he would be less confrontational from this point on. They all sat down.

"Are you familiar with a David King, Mr Espinosa?" Michael said to open proceedings. Espinosa did not hesitate to nod.

"Yes, he was my stockbroker. I had been giving him my money to invest for almost ten years. He was a good earner." Espinosa's use of the past tense was instantly flagged up by both men. Vega was certain to tread carefully when asking a follow-up question. His tone was more curious than aggressive.

"What do you mean 'was'?" Espinosa laughed and made an open gesture with his hands.

"Mr King can no longer count me amongst his clients. His last investments left me almost two million dollars in debt. I severed ties with him immediately."

"When was this?" Michael said producing his notebook.

"Almost a fortnight ago. I met him at his home. It was not an amicable parting as I recall. I accused him of swindling me, something he denied. Since I could no longer see sense in trying to reclaim what was owed to me, I left. I have a new broker now."

"Mr Espinosa why do you think we're here?" Michael asked, prompting Espinosa to raise an eyebrow. His smile faded somewhat.

"I assume Mr King has landed himself in hot water regarding his finances and you are here to investigate claims against him. Is this not the case?"

"Unfortunately, Mr King and his wife were murdered sometime this morning. We are talking to you now because of eyewitness reports." Michael explained, gauging the businessman's reaction closely. Espinosa certainly appeared shocked and upset by this news, but Michael did not believe it to be wholly genuine. His shock just seemed to dull too soon, especially if this was man he had known for a decade. A glance in Vega's direction told him they were of the same opinion; the younger man did not look impressed.

"I…I can't believe it. Do you have any leads?"

"We understand on the day you visited Mr King at his home, you employed a man named Ronald Burgan as your chauffeur?" Espinosa nodded slowly.

"Yes, the black giant, I remember him. He was a late replacement for my usual driver. I use a company to supply me with chauffeurs on an annual contract."

"And you only met Burgan on that morning?" Vega said writing down the details alongside his partner.

"Yes."

"And he was only your chauffeur for that day?"

"Yes. Since then, I have not seen him."

"So you were not aware of his past as a habitual criminal?" Michael asked. The Colombian shook his head.

"No, not at all. I assumed the company screened its staff thoroughly prior to hiring them." It sounded snide and jarred with his previous tone of voice. It sold Michael. There was something else going on here, he was sure of that now.

"Do you have a number we can ring for this chauffeur company?"

"Yes, I'll just have Rico fetch it for you."

The rest of the interview lasted only a matter of minutes after they had secured the contact number. With no evidence, no witnesses and no foundation for extending their conversation beyond recycling queries concerning Burgan, Michael and Vega thanked their host and graciously departed. Espinosa was equally cordial in bidding them goodbye. Both police officers felt there was more to be uncovered here, but had nothing to point them in the necessary direction. They would just have to interview Burgan and hope he had all the answers they required to really make some headway in this investigation. Unfortunately, telephoning the chauffeur company proved uninspiring. They had employed a Ronald Burgan, but the man had been let go after his criminal misdemeanours were brought to light. He left no forwarding address and departed the company a mere twenty-four hours prior to the homicides. Michael was growing increasingly frustrated with the situation, convinced they were deeper connections to find. Vega felt the same.

o

"There." Michael told his partner, indicating the computer screen display with his finger. They had found his last known address, a motel room not rented under his real name. Vega was doubtful.

"How do you know it's him?"

"Aside from the physical description the manager gave me, Kyle Selly is one of Burgan's former aliases."

"So, we going to pay him a visit tonight?"

"No time like the present."

Even before they entered the room, they could smell fresh blood from the hallway. Breaching the door led them to find Burgan sprawled on the bed staring lifelessly at the ceiling. He had been shot twice at close range with a powerful weapon, possible a magnum or desert eagle pistol. Judging by the rigor mortis present in his body, the pathologist guessed he had been dead for hours. Canvasing the room for clues and forensic evidence yielded some interesting results. There was a dry-cleaning receipt for a delivery uniform dated for earlier in the day, a generic duffel bag filled with almost one hundred thousand dollars in unmarked bills and clear evidence to suggest the presence of a second person. It seemed pretty obvious that some kind of illicit deal had transpired here and subsequently gone sour.

"What are you thinking, Boss?" Vega inquired after returning from grilling the manager on Burgan's movements during the last twenty-four hours. Michael shrugged his shoulders.

"Burgan's looking good for a hit job on the Kings. But somebody's definitely pulling the strings backstage here. What did the manager say?"

"He said the guy we're looking for was Mexican, roughly five-ten and around two-hundred-and-five pounds." Michael rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Great." Vega returned his sarcasm with a grin.

"It gets better. The manager remembers he had a tattoo on his left forearm, an intricate tribal pattern. Sound familiar?"

"Rico?"

"That's my thought. Looks like we're getting somewhere now huh?" Michael was wary of jumping to conclusions too soon in a case like this. He put his hand up in a gesture that explicitly signalled his partner to slow down.

"Let's consolidate what we've got already. Let's process this crime scene, get the lab results and verify the eyewitness accounts before we get ahead of ourselves." The younger man nodded in total agreement.

"Absolutely. The kid deserves a clear-cut answer." Michael agreed wholeheartedly with that sentiment. Alex reminded the man of Rex and that was always a good thing to do in situations like this. It often had the effect of making him redouble his efforts. Michael never made a promise he could not keep, not when the stakes were this high. Although it appeared the likely killer was dead, there was a conviction lurking behind it, one that wanted to stay hidden but needed to be exposed for Alex to have any lasting closure. Michael made up his mind there and then; this investigation could only end in arrest and conviction. It was as simple as that.

o

Hannah Britten had been busy today, spending the majority of it finding a buyer for the house and arranging removal vans to begin collecting their furniture. She had called her husband three times during the day, but each time found it going straight to voicemail. This was somewhat odd; Michael had never ignored her phone calls more than twice in their entire marriage, regardless of how dangerous or deep an investigation he was working at the department. She had pushed her worries to the back of her mind, but still remembered the afternoon he went inside a mental institution to negotiate with a lunatic, telling her before entering only that he would be home late. It was a miracle he survived that encounter, given the stitches he came out with. But that was Michael Britten's style, through and through. He would never change. He didn't change when she married him and he didn't change when Rex was born. Most astonishingly of all though, Michael did not change even when their son died.

Whatever grief and anguish hit the man in the aftermath did nothing to dim his passion for police work. He had taken two weeks off from work to be with and comfort her…and then headed back into the firing line. She had been in utter shock when she awoke one Monday morning to find him stood in front of the dresser mirror, dressed, shaven and slotting his firearm into his holster. When she managed to ask him where he was going, all Michael had said was 'work', like it was an obvious answer. He had been back there ever since, burying himself under mountains of indescribable pressure and expectation as he tackled case after case. She had of course heard about his flare-ups and need to visit a psychiatrist for treatment. He dismissed it as unimportant and just another line of 'red tape' to negotiate. He had told her not to worry. But she had, especially when he told her about his dreams of Rex.

If Hannah had experienced the kind of lucid dreams Michael told her about, she would probably have gone mad. Because her husband wasn't talking about merely seeing their son or having a conversation with him; Michael was hugging him, stroking his hair, taking him to school, eating breakfast with him, watching him play tennis and a whole host of other activities that rendered her to tears just to imagine. Because their son was dead. She would never smell his hair again, never run a hand lovingly down his cheek or kiss him tenderly on the forehead. There were no more long conversations at night between them about the teenager's life, loves and hopes for the future. Those nights were gone; a distant memory that somehow still bled into her soul and refused to scab over with time. But it had apparently given Michael strength beyond ordinary men. It gave him the power to endure Rex's death and continue to push forward. Her husband was simply remarkable. It was his willingness to soldier on and continue to live for others that partially inspired Hannah to move on too. And now they were finally on the cusp of moving to Oregon and starting fresh, something she had dreamed of since the accident. It had been a wild ride so far.

Michael arrived home around eleven. He went straight upstairs and into their bedroom. Hannah was already in bed, reading a science fiction novel when he entered the room.

"Hey." She said supportively after noticing how tired and listless her husband was as he began the process of undressing. He inclined his head whilst removing his necktie.

"Hey. How was your day?" He replied yanking his suit jacket off his shoulders and settling it on the chair. Hannah nodded.

"Okay. I think we have a buyer for the house." Michael furrowed his brow before adopting an expression of being mildly impressed by her efforts. He took off his shirt.

"Already? Wow, it's really going quick around here, huh?"

"Yes, we're practically halfway there now." She couldn't help but sound excited by the prospect. Michael smiled at her.

"I'm glad you're happy, Honey." There was something so soothing about the man's voice when he spoke to her like this. It was soft and radiated warmth that she had never encountered in anybody else…besides Rex. She returned the smile with interest before shifting the focus of the conversation.

"And how was your day?" As she spoke, Michael pulled back the covers and climbed into the bed, having already managed to change into his pyjamas in record time. He offered his usual shrug and casual response.

"It was okay, nothing special." This almost always meant the exact opposite with police officers. He was working a BIG case, perhaps one of his biggest this year. But Hannah knew from past experiences it was best not to push for the whole truth; it had a habit of being daunting to the point she couldn't believe he was able to sleep at night. Some of his cases had kept HER awake at night, but he never had a problem. It was yet another reason the man was incredible; he had a mind with the strength of a concrete bunker against emotional fallout. Hannah waited until he was settling before placing her book down and cuddling up to his side. He kissed her once on the lips and then once on the cheek, his standard routine for mutely saying goodnight. He then switched off his table lamp and held her in his arms.

"Whatever you're doing, Michael, please just be careful." He kissed her again.

"I will be, Honey, I promise."


	6. Chapter 6

**Right of Way 6**

**Author's Note: Things are set to get both confusing and paradoxical in this chapter as for the first time BOTH worlds feature simultaneously and, like the show itself, the chapter will flash back and forth between the red and green realities. For those of you who have made it to this point of the story, I congratulate you. Because of word constraints, plotting will be tighter and the pace more frantic in terms of action. You will have to keep up with what is happening to whom and which reality we're in, however, given the characters are completely different in the realities, it should be obvious. **

**Recap time: in the red reality, Michael had begun working a double homicide case concerning the King family and is currently investigating a man named Enrique Espinosa, someone neither he nor Vega trust for a second. They have already found the killer dead in a motel room and evidence of Espinosa's involvement, but are struggling to find the right links to bring him in on solid charges. **

**Now, as we return to the green reality, Michael finds himself burning a candle at both ends and closing on a truth that may prove mind-blowing…**

**Please Read and Review to validate the direction of this story. **

**Enjoy.**

oOo

"Dad?"

"…"

"Dad, are you listening?"

Michael looked up from his cereal to find his son frowning at him. He leaned forward. "Hmm?"

"I said are you still okay with me going over to Emma's after school?"

"Yeah, of course. Just make sure you're home before ten. It's still only Monday, okay?" Rex nodded in agreement, but still looked concerned.

"Are you okay? You've been acting weird today."

"Yeah, I'm fine. I was just thinking about one of my old cases." What the man was actually considering was how best to approach Espinosa and his possible killer servant Rico once he travelled back to Hannah's reality. CCTV footage had confirmed Rico had visited the motel Burgan was staying at that afternoon, some three hours before they arrived at Espinosa's house. But there was no evidence to suggest he went to Burgan's room and executed him, just a theory. It was frustrating.

"Did you solve it?" Michael blinked, having only heard the tail end of his son's question.

"What?"

"The case you were thinking about just now; did you close it out?"

"Nope, too tough a nut to crack for me." Rex did not look too convinced by that assertion.

"Really? Mom always said you had one of the highest conviction rates in your precinct."

"Yeah, well it doesn't always guarantee results. This one stumped me."

"Nothing stumps you, Dad." Michael smiled at the unusually open compliment.

"You stump me. You're like a Rubik's cube; I could never figure those damn things out either." The teenager rolled his eyes and smiled.

"Terrible."

"It's too early for decent material." The man said before nodding his head in appreciation, "Thanks for the vote of confidence, kiddo."

oOo

Michael was stood transfixed by the sight before him. It all just seemed so unreal and yet somehow expected all the same. Bird had received a callout to a homicide in the suburbs. It was a common enough if not unfortunate scenario for both veteran officers to come across. But then they pulled up outside the King residence. Going inside the house he had already scanned in minute detail before felt strangely ethereal, but the real haunting aspect of the situation was the victim. Alex King lay dead on his bedroom floor with multiple stab wounds. His parents stood distraught and inconsolable in the kitchen, having gone to wake him to find someone had murdered the boy during the night. The differences between these two realities began to echo his own; parents survive in one, the child in the other. Seeing Alex sprawled on his back with chalk-white skin and a pool of coagulated blood beneath him made Michael visibly shiver. Bird picked up on his partner's distress immediately.

"You know this kid, Mike?" Michael shook his head.

"No, no, never seen him before. I just keep thinking about Rex. This kid can't be much older than him." The big man nodded in complete understanding of his companion's feelings on such a senseless tragedy.

"Yeah, I know what you mean. Want to hear what Mr and Mrs King were able to give us?"

"Yeah, let's hear it." Michael said crouching down over the body. He gestured to Bird, silently asking whether forensics had already examined Alex. His partner nodded before beginning his initial report. While Bird spoke, Michael took the opportunity to quickly glance over the teenager for any evidence of his killer. He already had a suspect in mind, a BIG suspect in mind.

"Basically Mrs King went upstairs around eight when Alex didn't show for breakfast. She found him just like this on the floor. Attempts were made to revive him, but it was already too late by then. Neither Mr King nor his wife heard anything last night. The doctor says he was probably killed sometime between two and four a.m. this morning. On the initial forensic workup, it appears the kid tried to fight his attacker judging by the defensive wounds on his arms, but was seriously overpowered. See the bruising on his wrists? Those indentations are human fingers; this guy, whoever he is, must've been huge to have hands like that. Also had something stuffed in his mouth to stop him screaming. The guys already bagged that though. Kid was stabbed five times, puncturing two vital organs and causing massive internal bleeding. Most likely weapon is a hunting knife. No sign of sexual assault." Michael paused to stroke the boy's hair and felt some part of him wanting to cry. He pushed the sensation back, noticing something entangled in Alex's hair, just above his left ear.

"Look at this." Michael said displaying a green contact lens between his thumb and forefinger for Bird to see. "What do you think about that?"

"I think that's a big-ass clue for forensics to miss."

"I recognize it."

"Say what?"

"This and the doctor's workup, about this being done by a big man, points to a guy named Ronald Burgan. Ever heard of him?" Bird's jaw tightened when he heard the name. He adopted a heavy frown and nodded.

"Yeah, actually I have. He used to work in the circus, right? They called him the green-eyed giant or something?" Michael smiled; both he and Bird were on the same page already with the direction of this investigation. It was a good start.

"Yeah, that's who I've got in mind." Bird folded his arms, considering something internally.

"Yeah, well, if I remember rightly Burgan was involved in a double homicide a few years back."

"He was never formally charged though."

"But what's his motive?" Bird came to the crux of the situation and it was here that Michael had all the answers about Espinosa, the lost investment money and hiring Burgan as the assassin. But he was going to need to remain tight-lipped on the matter until they both got that far.

"I think we need to speak with the Kings for that."

oOo

David and Laura King were motionless as they sat in the lounge. When Michael and Bird entered the room, the couple barely seemed to notice. The two men observed them for a few moments, assessing how bad a state they were in and how helpful they were going to be at present. Laura King was totally inconsolable, but her husband, although suffering the same agony as her, had an expression more akin to guilt than grief. Michael was sure he knew the answer to why. If King had been alive in the other reality, the man could have confirmed Espinosa threatened him and helped Michael piece the circumstances of the case together. But he could not be sure other details of this case were not different as well. Perhaps King had not met with Espinosa a fortnight ago here. It would all have to be subtly uncovered through careful questioning. Michael sat down. Bird chose to stand.

"Mr and Mrs King, I'm Detective Michael Britten and this is my partner Detective Isaiah Freeman. We've been assigned to this case and need to ask you some tough questions. I know this is a difficult time for you, but…"

"What the hell do you know about this being difficult for us?" David King snapped, a vicious, accusative look etched on his face. Michael composed himself. He was already getting a distinct impression of King's character that had not been evident on the paperwork in the other reality.

"I recently lost my wife in a car accident." King's response was to remove the confrontational element from his face and replace it with a softer, empathetic expression.

"I'm sorry, Detective. I hadn't realized."

"It's fine. Let's talk about Alex. Can you think of anyone or any reason for what happened here?"

"No. Alex was…" King paused to swallow the lump in his throat. It was an eerie similarity. "He was a good boy and never had a problem with anybody he came across. I can't imagine any scenario that ends like this."

"Mr King, would it be possible to speak to you in private for a moment?" Michael inquired to render everyone else in the room silent, including a grieving mother and his long-time partner. The man had decided he could either sit here and pull teeth for information he already had, or he could speed this up and break new ground that might conceivably lead not only to a conviction in this reality, but also the other. Besides the victims, Michael found much of the initial details and timings were almost interchangeable. It was time for a brief on where they all stood. David King, despite his bemusement, agreed to speak with him in private. Bird had meanwhile been tasked with trying to glean something from Mrs King. Once they were alone in King's home office, Michael clarified his position.

"Mr King, are you familiar with a man named Enrique Espinosa?" Michael saw recognition immediately. King's jaw tightened and he gave up the most fleeting blink of shock before collecting himself and shaking his head.

"No, should I be?" Michael already knew the man was lying. He decided to unveil his findings.

"So, you didn't have a meeting with a man named Enrique Espinosa approximately two weeks ago in which you told him you had lost two million dollars of his money in failing stocks?" King's eyeballs practically popped out their sockets in utter astonishment. It was the look of a man who thought he had buried his skeletons beyond the reach of any man.

"How could you possibly know that?"

"It doesn't matter. What is important is that you feel guilty over your son's death because you know that somehow it was because of your business dealings with Enrique Espinosa. If you want to give Alex justice, Mr King, we can't chase shadows. You need to tell me anything you know about this man and how he operates. Let's not waste any more time: what can you tell me about that meeting? Did Mr Espinosa call you or did you call him. When he arrived did he have a tall, black chauffeur with him? To the best of your knowledge is Mr Espinosa a criminal?" Michael fired off the questions in a barrage, needing answers as quickly as they could be produced. King, still dumbstruck, took a moment to understand and then began feeding back the answers. David King was sure Espinosa had killed his son as an act of retribution, equating life with money. King believed the Colombian to be a criminal and a rich one at that with hundreds of men at his command. He remembered the black chauffeur being there on that day. Espinosa HAD threatened him with 'grave consequences' for what the businessman considered a 'clear act of attrition'. Of course, he had no proof of these allegations. Michael suggested bookkeeping records. Surely after ten years of financial transactions, King had evidence of Espinosa's accrued wealth.

Michael tried to memorize every detail he was exposed to. In the other reality, the office had been ransacked with several documents unaccounted for. The man had not seen these ledgers King was showing him at the crime scene and assumed Burgan had taken them to be destroyed. Looking at the abundance of dates, amounts and payments these ledgers held in relation to Espinosa, it was obvious why. Michael considered something.

"Mr King, let me ask you something on a purely hypothetical basis."

"Yes?"

"If you were being burgled during the daytime and were present at home when it occurred, would you store these documents in a place other than this office?"

"Yes."

"Where might that be exactly?" King wore a guarded expression at that question.

"I don't understand why we're discussing this."

"We can keep this quiet for now, but if your involvement with the police was leaked to Espinosa, there's a high chance he might send someone else to secure this evidence. Where would you store these?" King considered the matter and seemed to be in two minds whether to expose such a close-kept secret to a stranger, despite his son likely being murdered for it. After a terse few minutes of silence, the man relented.

"There's a loose panel underneath the stove, behind which is a hollow. If worst came to worst, I would stash them there for safekeeping."

"Would Alex have known about these ledgers?"

"No, not at all. Alex was a good boy."

"We're going to need these ledgers for comparison, Mr King."

o

Michael Britten was back at the crime scene where the Kings had been murdered. There were traces of someone having been there after the house had been cordoned, clearly searching for something important. Entering the kitchen, Vega could not contain himself any further.

"Why are we here instead of interrogating Rico Maldonado? The guys have already collected every piece of evidence worth having." The younger said, irritated that his partner had decided to take a step back in the investigation instead of forging forward. Michael crouched down in front of the stove and locating the bottom panel.

"Don't you think it's odd David King had no records of business transactions between himself and Espinosa if they worked together for ten years?"

"Of course, but we also know Espinosa's pretty much a crime lord; he probably had Burgan destroy them after the murder."

"But what if he didn't find them and that's why Rico was sent to the motel?"

"Why don't we just ask Rico what he was doing there?"

"Because we know he'll lie. We need proof."

"And the proof is behind the stove?" Vega offered sarcastically as Michael closed his hands around the panel. The man jerked it loose, finding it easy to move. Just as King had described, there was a hollow behind the panel. Michael reached in and produced four or five ledgers he recognized already. He smiled displaying them to his stunned partner.

"Proof."

o

KNOCK

KNOCK

Alex King opened the door to his room in the foster home to find Michael Britten standing in the hallway. There was a flicker of a smile from the teenager.

"Detective Britten, hi."

"We've got a substantial lead in the case." Alex raised an eyebrow.

"Already?"

"Alex, what can you tell me about a man called Enrique Espinosa?" Michael watched the youth stiffen at mention of that name. He was aware of something sinister about Espinosa, something Michael though he might already have uncovered. As he stood there, watching Alex wrestle with some internal demons, an image of the boy cold and dead at his feet flashed across his mind. If Alex knew anything that might incriminate Espinosa, it was motive enough to kill him in the other reality. Eventually, the teenager made a decision. "You'd better come inside."

o

"I was doing research about Colombia for a geography assignment, one of those round the world fact-finding essays. I found out all the usually stuff, the capital city, population numbers, major imports, exports etc. Only then I came across something else on the internet, about crime statistics. When I clicked on it, it showed me a picture of a man they called Enrique Espinosa, apparently Colombia's most infamous crime boss. The website wasn't any kind of official site, just something someone wrote, but it made some pretty crazy claims." Alex explained as they sat on his bed together. Michael had not really anticipated this type of response from the teenager. He stumbled across Espinosa while studying for school? It sounded unusual and yet somehow the man could sense it was inevitably the truth. He pressed for more information.

"Claims like what?"

"That he'd massacred one thousand people in twenty years and was the main supplier and distributor of cocaine in South America, with a criminal empire worth more than five-hundred million dollars." These were facts Michael had gathered, although it had taken considerably more resources to obtain than Alex's method. Working with Bird in the other reality, they had found no less than eighty-seven individual charges had been brought against Espinosa in Colombia and the majority of other countries in South America. They had also found out that every time he found himself in court, Espinosa had been able to escape unscathed. Witnesses were murdered, judges bribed or blackmailed and evidence had a tendency to vanish along with prosecutors and their charges. None of it could be traced to Espinosa; there were always middlemen to take the fall. It would take a miracle to convict such a monster. Michael was holding out for one right now.

"Do you know the name of the person who made these allegations? Do they have an email address we can post to or something?"

"The guy's called _Justiceseeker41_ and he's got a chat forum online." Michael was curious now.

"So, that day you saw one of your dad's clients leaving the house, did you recognize him as Enrique Espinosa?" Alex adopted a shamefaced expression before tentatively nodding his head.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell us that yesterday?" Although the man had not asked the question accusatively, the teenager still appeared close to tears as he gave his response. His voice was almost shaking.

"I was scared he was the one who killed them. And that he'd come back for me." Michael put a hand on Alex's shoulder.

"He's not coming back for anybody, Alex. I'll make sure he's put away. I promise, okay?"

"How can you do that? You know how many people have failed to convict this guy?"

"Yes, I do. I also know from twenty years of experience that it only takes one slip-up to take even the most untouchable of men down to the ground. Trust me; this guy is going to have made a mistake and once I find it all this will have been worth something."

o

"You missed yesterday's appointment, Detective Britten. You are aware attendance is mandatory unless there are exceptional circumstances?" Doctor Lee inquired having spoken with Captain Harper and rescheduled the appointment. Michael shrugged his shoulders.

"The case I'm working is getting pretty intense right now, Doctor; I can't afford to miss a single minute of the investigation."

"I understand from your captain that this is a double homicide with a single adolescent survivor. Does this child remind you of your son?"

"Maybe a little. But this isn't the only investigation I'm working on." Doctor Lee offered him a resigned look. He considered it a bad development and when he spoke it was obvious he felt that way.

"Oh? You've found more work in your dreams as well?"

"I'm working the same case, Doctor, just the victims are reversed. In the other reality, the kid is dead and the parents are alive." Doctor Lee fell silent for the first time in their meetings, seemingly astonished by the information he'd just been exposed to. He appeared to consider something for an inordinately long time. He then took off his glasses and placed his notepad to one side.

"Detective Britten, this is exactly what I have been waiting for. Your subconscious is finally alerting you to the falsity of your dream reality by taking its constructs and developments from this world. There is no more distance for this fantasy world of yours to run. When I said you were almost home last time we spoke, this is the transition period I expected to see."

"But I'm working the case from both sides, placing the pieces together like a jigsaw puzzle. It's proving effective."

"How do you mean? Give me an example."

"I need to find a ledger, but I don't know where to find it. I go to the other reality and ask the victim from this reality where he would put it. He tells me, I come back here and I find it right where he said it would be. And then I'm able to move forward with the investigation."

"Either that or you subconsciously observed something while transiting through the crime scene and were only alerted of it when dreaming that night. It would appear your subconscious is now working for you rather than against you and your grip on reality."

"I don't know about that." Doctor Lee sighed and folded his arms.

"Well let me ask you this, which came first? The investigation here or in your dreams?"

"Here."

"And then suddenly, you start working the exact same case with different victims in your other world. The only difference is, with this case, you already know all the answers and can move forward more rapidly. Doesn't this sound more like your mind trying to piece fragments of your investigation together and make sense of it all? It's almost a logical thought process you're describing, the act of ordering information so that it presents itself in a form we can understand and interpret. You are beginning to let go of your son and starting to focus solely on this world and its problems, the _real_ world, Detective. I think that, once you solve this case or bring the investigation to its natural conclusion, your dream world will finally collapse completely. You will be free and able to move on with your wife to Oregon." Michael blinked. He leaned forward and set out his feelings on that theory concisely.

"So, you're now saying that separating myself from Rex is _not_ the answer anymore. You're saying the answer is solving this case _here _and that will keep me_ here_ with Hannah."

"You constantly shift the key to your delusions, the method by which you can escape them, but the root of your problems is always to do with your son and your inability to accept his loss. Now you're working a case with an orphaned teenager, someone who is struggling to understand the loss of his parents, as you are with your son. By fulfilling your obligations to find his parents' killers, you are helping him deal with the situation. And through doing this, you are helping yourself with your own grief. The boy being dead in your dream world and his parents being alive is your subconscious trying to tell you about Rex. It is trying to get you to work through the issues and end the delusion." Michael had to admit, however much he did not like Lee on a personal basis, as a professional, the man was highly effective at putting together a sound argument. When Michael spoke, he could not help sounding slightly tentative.

"So, I solve the case and Rex goes away, permanently?" Doctor Lee seemed to be pick up on whatever sliver of fear was present in his patient's voice and took on a softer expression, one that said he understood the difficulty of the situation. When he spoke, the psychiatrist was kind.

"He will live on in your memories, Detective Britten, those you and your wife share. Between you, you will find closure and move on with your lives together. It would be a fitting end to these proceedings."

oOo

Michael was sat on the couch, watching television. The day had been long and fruitless in trying to tie Espinosa to murdering Alex King. They could not locate Burgan, again and, despite searching the motel he recalled from the other reality, they had turned up nothing. The stress and parallel nature of the investigations were starting to take their toll on him. He needed to relax and was attempting at that very moment to do just that. Rex had once again disappeared to his girlfriend's house for the evening, leaving Michael with only Doctor Lee's closing remarks on letting his son go.

On many levels, Michael did not understand it. He was not smothering or clingy with Rex. He could often go almost the whole day without seeing or thinking about the boy and his presence at weekends was close to non-existent. All in all, Michael was a good parent who respected his son's burgeoning transition from child to adult and weathered the thunderstorm of adolescence in between with patience and understanding. Then, of course, there was the other side of it. Michael NEEDED to see Rex. It did not have to be every day, but could not be longer than three. If he was in a scenario that said he could never see the teenager again, the man would lose his mind. He could never truly let him go as Lee wanted, just as he could not let Hannah go as Doctor Evans wanted. He had to have both or neither and neither meant the end of him.

About halfway through his programme, roughly eleven-thirty, Rex wandered through the doorway. The teenager gave a nod of recognition to his father on route to the kitchen. Michael returned the gesture and resumed watching the television. He could hear the youth rummaging through the fridge and knew he would be going for the grape-flavoured Kool-Aid the man had prepared earlier. Rex had only ever liked grape-flavoured Kool-Aid, a fact Michael had been made keenly aware of during the boy's elementary years when he threw a tantrum after the man had bought CHERRY Kool-Aid from the store. Michael had never made that mistake ever again. Sure enough, Rex re-entered the lounge with a half-empty glass of grape-flavoured Kool-Aid and sat down next to his father.

"So how was it at Emma's house?" Michael asked without taking his eyes off the screen. Rex took a short sip before replying.

"Yeah, okay. Her mom's a really good chef."

"What did she make you?"

"Mexican-style fajitas. They were soooo good."

"Better than mine?"

"Yeah." Michael turned to offer his son a frown at his blunt answer. Rex realized this and turned his own head to return the man's gaze. "Come on Dad, admit it; you're just not the world's greatest chef. You struggle to boil eggs."

"Is that why you disappear every night of the week? Because you don't want to eat your old man's fajitas?" Michael asked in mock exasperation. Rex rolled his eyes at the man's bad acting.

"No, of course not. I just want to spend time with my girlfriend." Michael gestured at the glass in the youth's hand.

"But you'll come home to drink my Kool-Aid, huh?" Rex shook his head, but could not help but smile at his dad's playful ribbing.

"You don't even like Kool-Aid; you only buy this stuff for me."

"Well, I just don't want you throwing tantrums on the kitchen floor again."

"You still remember that? I was like six."

"No, you were _nine_. You just acted about six."

"Can we please talk about something else?"

"Like what? I mean aside from Kool-Aid, Emma and fajitas, isn't your mind just empty?"

"Ouch. Well, maybe I should just go then." Rex announced getting to his feet. Michael remained seated. He smiled at the teenager. The boy was tired. Just a glance at his lack of energy for a long bout of banter made this clear to the man. "Night, Dad."

"Can I get a kiss?" It might have sounded strange to an outsider, but not inside the Britten household. Rex had been kissing his mother and father goodnight since he was barely able to talk. He had naturally stopped doing it to his dad almost three years ago, but had kept up the ritual with his mom. Since the accident, the youth had started up the habit again. It was not to remind his father he loved him or to appease Rex that he had completed his mandatory kind gesture to the man that day. The teenager kissed his father on the cheek because he needed to. It was proof to Rex that the man was still there, that he wasn't going anywhere in the near future and that the boy could go to bed knowing his father was safe and happy. On many levels it was stupid and childish to Rex, but it was nevertheless important to his well-being to continue believing in his system that kissing his father goodnight kept him safe from harm. He did not hesitate to lean down and peck the man on the cheek.

"Night, Dad."

"Night, Son. I'll see you in the morning."

o

Michael came into work that morning determined to interview both Maldonado and Espinosa about their involvement in the King murder case. He and Vega had delayed long enough in correlating evidence and linking the South Americans to Burgan and his subsequent murder. They needed answers and now had the means to force their suspects to give them. The man felt positive about their chances. That was why when he saw his partner with a grave expression on his face, Michael was more than a little perplexed.

"What's up?" The man asked his companion as he rounded the desk to where Vega was sitting. The younger man sighed.

"Espinosa's dead, Michael. Rico Maldonado's missing. We just got the call through. We need to head up to Beverley Hills now." Michael was unable to comprehend what he had just been told. Espinosa was dead? Had Rico killed him? Had Alex killed him? Had someone else unrelated to this case killed him? There was so many possibilities for the killer's identity and that was without any other information about what had happened. Once the shock had subsided, Michael gathered himself together and began to consider Maldonado's role in these proceedings. Maybe they had been looking at this case the wrong way; perhaps Espinosa was not the key at all, maybe it was Rico. He gestured to Vega.

"So let's go."

**The conclusion is coming in the next chapter. Stay tuned for more. (Continue to Review)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Right of Way 7**

**Author's Note: This is the end of this story. Response thus far has been of a far more encouraging and complementary nature than I had expected. If this story reaches its intended ten review target, I will continue to write and publish **_**Awake**_** related fiction. I have an idea for another story called **_**Aftermath**_** which would chronicle how I imagine the second season of the show would go. If started and positively received, **_**Aftermath**_** would run to a total of 10,000 words. This however is for a future that has not yet come to pass. Right now, this story needs a conclusion.**

**Recap: Michael Britten finds himself working cases with a haunting similarity, aside from a reversal of victims in both realities. Doctor Lee believes solving this case will lead to Michael finally accepting his son's death, but Michael is not too keen on the idea of totally losing Rex. As both cases gather momentum, Michael finds himself trying to use details from one reality to aid the speed of the investigation in the other. However, now their main suspect, Enrique Espinosa has been found dead in the red reality, derailing the theory Michael and Vega had worked out and forcing them to rethink their approach. **

**What happens next in the green reality brings Michael closer to an answer to his own predicament than he ever thought possible…**

**Here is the grand finale to Right of Way.**

**Enjoy.**

o

Michael had been staring at Espinosa's bullet-riddled corpse on the veranda for almost ten minutes. It seemed entirely implausible that a man as prolific and careful as Enrique Espinosa, supposedly Colombia's biggest crime lord, would be gunned down so easily. Judging from a brief glance of the entry and exit wounds, the businessman had been shot five times at almost point-blank range with large calibre bullets, probably from a semi-automatic like a Desert Eagle or a Magnum Colt, two of a sizable collection Espinosa owned. There was no sign of forced entry onto the property, no missing items and no evidence that suggested this attack was motivated by anything else but revenge. Rico Maldonado's disappearance was a big part of this, firmly placing the guilt and suspicion on his absent shoulders, but somehow Michael felt there was far more to this situation than it seemed.

"What are you thinking, Boss?" Vega asked after completing preliminary interviews with several of Espinosa's employees. Michael turned to look at the younger man with serious doubt etched across his face.

"It looks like Rico shot his boss and fled."

"But?"

"But why? Espinosa has beaten the charges time and time again for over twenty years; what's to say this time will be any different?"

"Maybe Espinosa was going to make him the scapegoat to save his own skin. Maybe Rico had a deeper personal issue with Espinosa than we thought. Maybe he just went nuts. It's impossible to tell from this."

"What did the witnesses have to say?" Vega shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

"Nobody saw what happened. They heard the gunshots, rushed outside and found Espinosa already dead. Nobody saw any sign of the killer or the murder weapon." Michael blinked.

"How is that possible?"

"That's just what they're sticking to. Judging from the fear in their eyes, I'm guessing they were coerced into making those statements. I say we bring in the weakest one and get them to give us the truth."

"You think traumatising a victim of homicide is good policing?" Vega tightened his jaw as an instant response exited his lips.

"Do you want to get this guy or not? If it turns out to be Maldonado who did this, we're dealing with a serial killer. He needs to be stopped." Michael couldn't argue with that. His partner was not a stupid man nor would be suggest something without careful consideration. He nodded at his companion.

"Okay, who's the canary?" Vega directed his attention to a fragile but beautiful-looking Hispanic woman in her mid-twenties huddled in a group with six others.

"Luisa Dominguez."

o

"Miss Dominguez, I'm Detective Britten and this is my colleague Detective Vega. We need to ask you a few questions about the statement you made to police." Michael began as the three of them sat in Interrogation Room One. The young woman was already tense before even opening her mouth. When she spoke, her words shook with anxiety.

"But I already tell them everything I know."

"Yes, but we think there's more to this than we're seeing. We think you know who did this and why."

"But I already tell…"

"Does he have your family_?"_ Vega said to interrupt her. Dominguez froze as the younger man's piercing question seemed to reach deep into her soul. She was silent for several minutes in the aftermath. Finally she spoke.

"I don't wanna say anything about Senor Espinosa." The quality of her voice had deteriorated further and she seemed on the verge of tears. Both Michael and Vega were nothing but sympathetic to her condition. Vega tried to assure her of the facts.

"Luisa, if Espinosa has hurt you in the past, if he has hurt your family or threatened you, it doesn't matter anymore; Enrique Espinosa is dead." Dominguez only bowed her head, shaking it a few moments later. What she said next stunned her companions.

"No, he isn't."

"I'm sorry?"

"That man wasn't Enrique Espinosa." The two men exchanged baffled expressions at this startling announcement. Michael leaned over the desk.

"What do you mean?" Halfway through that sentence, Dominguez had started to cry. When she managed to speak, it was barely intelligible through heavy sobs.

"I don't wanna say anymore."

o

"Rico Maldonado is the REAL Enrique Espinosa." Vega informed his partner, who was less than impressed they were learning of this just now.

"How the hell did we miss this?" The younger man shrugged haphazardly.

"The guy was good at covering his tracks and had a great frontman for his operation, the real Rico Maldonado. If Luisa hadn't said what she did, we could've missed this. When you look at all the evidence together, it actually makes a lot of sense. Essentially, around thirty years ago, the two men swapped identities with Espinosa posing as Maldonado while continuing to operate his criminal empire in Colombia. You've got to admit, it's a pretty smart idea."

"So why waste the man if he's such a good smokescreen? It doesn't make any sense."

"It's possible Espinosa didn't kill him."

"And what? He just decides to flee anyway?"

"All we know is we can't find him, not that he's left the country. And if he's such a proficient killer, why hire Burgan in the first place? Why didn't he simply do the job himself?"

"There are way too many holes in this case." Michael said allowing his eyes to close. It helped block out distractions. Vega's voice seemed to amplify in the dark.

"So we need to plug them. What do you suggest?" The older man considered, but could only find himself concentrating on one person, someone who probably could not add to the investigation. He opened his eyes.

"Maybe Alex King can help." Vega looked entirely unconvinced, but his reply caught his companion by surprise.

"You really feel for this kid, don't you?"

"What are you saying?"

"I'm just saying it's nice to see you giving up your time for a kid that's completely alone and vulnerable at the moment. He needs someone right now." It was clear Vega was far more intuitive and understanding about such delicate matters than Michael gave him credit for. When he spoke, the veteran made his feelings clear.

"I just want to get him justice, Efrem." Vega nodded.

"We keep going like this, and we will, Michael. I guarantee it."

o

Alex King was happy to see Michael again. In fact, inside the youth was overjoyed, but he kept that to himself. Things had been different in the last few days as the reality he would never see his parents again finally sunk in. His foster family were nice, but not all that great at talking to him. He had to change schools and now went to a public high school, even though his tuition fees were paid through to the end of the year. Everyone at the new school wanted to be nice, but he really didn't care for it. He just wanted things back to the way they had been only four or five days ago. He wanted to wake up in his own room, walk into the kitchen and have breakfast with his parents as usual. It was a dream he wished he could escape to and never have to leave. He told Michael as much. The man could sympathise more than Alex could ever truly appreciate.

"I know it hurts now, Alex. But after a while, you will start to feel better."

"They want me to see a therapist." The teenager said bitterly.

"They make me do the same." Alex widened his eyes in surprise at the man's answer.

"Really? What do they ask you?"

"Just how you feel and how your day's going. They only want to help you get over whatever's bothering you."

"So long as they don't want to hypnotise me or something."

"Hypnotise?" Michael couldn't help grinning at that idea. Alex, seeing this reaction, smiled too.

"Yeah, that was pretty dumb."

"It's fine. I actually came here to give you an update on the case." The smiles faded from both their faces, the light-hearted moment erased from memory as their reason for being in that situation reared its ugly head. Alex looked at him expectantly.

"You've arrested Espinosa?"

"No. But we're practically on top of him now. The problem is he's gone into hiding. I thought he might've left the country, but my partner's not so sure. Did your research ever turn up any properties in the LA county area owned by Espinosa?"

"No, but maybe _Justiceseeker41 _knows a few places."

o

They went on Alex's laptop and found the chat forum almost immediately. Michael had purposely avoided the more confusing aspects of the investigation because Alex didn't need to know the finer details of what was going on. It would likely do more harm than good to know the man who was responsible for killing his parents was practically invisible in a crowd. Fortunately, _Justiceseeker41 _was online and in the mood to talk. Michael wasted no time in getting straight to the heart of the matter, explaining he was a police detective and needed to know if there were any addresses in the city owned by Espinosa to which he would flee in a crisis. There was a long delay.

_Justiceseeker41: Not to worry Detective Britten. Soon Mr Espinosa will no longer be a problem in this lifetime._

_KING_alex: __**What do you mean?**_

_Justiceseeker41: I will take care of him for you. No need for thanks._

_KING_alex: __**Was it you who shot Maldonado?**_

_Justiceseeker41: Goodbye Detective._

**Justiceseeker41 has left the chat room.**

Both Michael and Alex sat there in stunned silence. After a while, the teenager shrugged his shoulders and spoke casually.

"Looks like this guy's going to do your job for you."

"Alex, he's going to kill him."

"So? It's not like he doesn't deserve it."

"But it's not right. We have to show them we're above stooping to their level to get results."

"But sometimes it's okay to kill people." Michael pressed a hand down firmly on the youth's shoulder.

"It is NEVER okay to kill, Alex, never."

o

Michael and Vega worked incredibly quickly. They traced the IP address of the profile name and found a Juan Dominguez on the other end, identified as Luisa Dominguez's uncle. Instead of going straight for the home address listed on at the DMV, Michael concentrated on the vehicle Dominguez drove. It was an old BMW with a faded blue paintjob and distinctive license plate registration. A short call to all patrolling cars in the city, citing the key features of the car, turned up a sighting on a secluded industrial area within ten minutes. Within fifteen minutes, Michael and Vega were on route, having ordered the sighting patrol car to secure the building it was situated outside. They were only two minutes out when the reporting officers called shots fired over the radio.

When they arrived on scene, they found everything as expected. Enrique Espinosa was slumped face-down in a pool of his own blood with his hands and feet bound tight. Juan Dominguez was already in handcuffs, his weapon of choice already in an evidence bag for ballistics. The man did not look upset or tortured in the slightest. The only thing present on Dominguez's face was immense satisfaction. He had been planning this for a while.

oOo

"What do you mean he just walked in?" Michael asked Bird in complete and utter disbelief of the man sat in their interrogation room. Ronald Burgan had apparently been sitting there for the last hour, ready and willing to talk about everything. Bird just shrugged his shoulders.

"He just walked in, Michael. At seven this morning, Burgan came to the front desk and turned himself in for the King boy's murder. He says he'll sign a full confession. I thought I'd wait until you got in to interview him properly." Michael didn't like this, not a bit. It was all too easy now. After the nightmarish set of twists he'd found in the other reality, the multiple homicides and the bitter man who put the final nail in the coffin, the idea Burgan would close it for them without any fanfare was hard to swallow. How could it be that simple a solution? They were talking about a major criminal investigation, not a convenience store hold-up. Michael sighed.

"What are we looking at here, Bird?"

"The end of the case, Mike. So shall we go in and close it properly?"

Ronald Burgan seemed a lot bigger sitting up rather than lying down to Michael as they entered the room. The big man was amazingly built for someone of his size, easily around three-hundred-and-thirty pounds and had adopted a very relaxed demeanour despite his surroundings. As the two officers sat down, Michael noted Burgan had dispensed with his green contacts, displaying the dark quality of his own brown eyes. Bird opened proceedings.

"Mr Burgan, this is my colleague, Detective Britten. Now that we're all here, let's hear it all from the top."

"It's like I said, I want to confess to killing that King boy. I also want to put the man who hired me to do it behind bars. Guy never told me it was the kid I was meant to waste." Burgan spoke in a deep, but casual tone of voice devoid of any real regret over his actions. His explanations seemed so feeble to Michael that man could not help but scoff.

"What because you have morals?"

"Hey, look man, I ain't no damn angel and I'm at peace with that, but I don't want to known as a guy who iced a kid because he was told to." Michael disagreed.

"You didn't stab Alex King five times in the chest by accident, Burgan."

"It was dark and it happened in a second."

"And the rag you stuffed in his mouth to stop him crying out? Was that done in a second too?"

"Hey man, what do you want from me? I'm confessing to the crime AND I'm giving up the guy who hired me."

"Yeah, you are, but don't pretend like you didn't know you were killing a child at the time. And you had better give us something concrete on your employer because we can convict you on our own; we don't need your confession to shut the door on that." Bird shot his partner a glance that to an outsider would seem casual, but in their world actually meant _do we really need to go this hard on him?_ Michael didn't even see his companion's glance; his eyes were fixed on their self-confessed hitman and were not liable to move any time soon.

As Burgan began to speak, Michael still found his sudden presence and assistance in this investigation difficult to grasp. Burgan confessed to everything that both men had suspected of him doing from forensic evidence found at the scene. He had canvassed the house and grounds when acting as the fake Espinosa's chauffeur and had made several subsequent trips in the two weeks leading up to the murder. He entered the house through the back door, using lock picking tools supplied to him by his employer. He scoured the house looking for the ledgers, unable to gain access to King's office using just his tools. So he went upstairs and entered the first bedroom he came to, Alex's room. After a ruckus and brief struggle, Burgan killed Alex and, upon realising it was just a teenager, fled the property and had been hiding out until that morning. The final details didn't wash with either Michael or Bird. After a little pushing, Burgan revealed he had tried to force Alex to give him the whereabouts of the office keys, but could not sway him. Espinosa had wanted to send King a message, so Burgan followed orders and killed Alex. Michael was both satisfied and disgusted with the truth.

After the preliminaries were over and the signed confession was completed, they progressed onto Espinosa. Burgan gave them dates, facts and figures and gave both his companions the impression he was far more involved than either of them had realized. He informed them he had been employed on and off by Espinosa for almost five years, sometimes as a hitman and other times as a mere enforcer or bodyguard. He also had possession of a remarkable memory, recalling meetings and appointments from years ago in perfect clarity. After ten minutes of relaying information to them, Michael and Bird realized they had struck gold. With Burgan's testimony and the locations of hidden bodies around the city, they could put Espinosa behind bars permanently without any possibility of parole, no matter how good his defence team. And yet, it still seemed wrong to Michael. Everything about what was transpiring in this investigation, especially in comparison to the other, was just too straightforward and sequential. It was too easy, but was also more than that…it was unreal…

And there it was. For the first time since this all began Michael questioned this world's reality. He was a veteran police officer with twenty years of experience; if there were ever a perfect solution to a crime, a chatty career criminal with ties to the main suspect and a wealth of intelligence about them was it. It NEVER happened, not ever. People like Burgan did NOT grow a conscience overnight. Even by turning over Espinosa, Burgan would still receive a life sentence. The only reprieve he had accomplished for himself was avoiding the death penalty. It made better sense to make a run for the border than give up your freedom. But this current situation, Burgan turning up alive and willing to tell-all, was exactly what MICHAEL had wanted to happen. He had even daydreamt about the possibility during the case. So for it to happen and to occur so conveniently AFTER he had wrapped up the investigation in Hannah's world was a little too idyllic to be believable. All the credit this reality had built for itself had been unravelled by this one case being more akin to a half-finished colouring book than a police investigation, particularly in the closing stages which had progressed like a cheap plot development in a B movie as if to save time . The whole investigation felt irreproachably cheapened by this unexpected and lazy twist. All Doctor Lee's comments finally made sense and Michael felt like a fool for ever believing otherwise. The only thing that now seemed to have any substance was Rex…but Michael was no longer sure on that either.

"We just got word that Espinosa and Maldonado have fled the country on a private jet." Bird informed Michael after putting in the calls. The man nodded having expected something along those lines. It was bad plotting all around.

"Of course they have. I don't expect they'll be coming back to the states anytime soon with Burgan's evidence." Bird clapped him supportively on the back.

"We'll get him next time, Michael; it's only a matter of time." Michael didn't care about that anymore.

"Yeah sure. What time is it?"

"Around one."

"Perfect timing to go see the shrink."

oOo

"Tell me exactly what you mean, Detective." Doctor Evans said genially as she lay back in her chair. Michael made a brief gesture by opening his hands and shrugging his shoulders.

"I'm no longer confused, Doctor. I know which reality is real and which isn't." He replied. His companion did not look even mildly surprised by this potentially titanic announcement. She smiled before gesturing at him with an open hand.

"Really? I suppose that Doctor Lee has finally convinced you that this reality is the false one?" Michael tilted his head to one side and shrugged again.

"It makes more sense than the other way round. I see that now."

"Why don't you explain exactly how you arrived at such a definitive decision? When did you become sure of this reality's lack of credibility?" Despite being faced with a patient who did not believe she existed, Doctor Evans did not seem defensive or on edge in the slightest. It was almost as if she did not care whether he considered her real or a figment of his imagination, a trait that Michael thought only strengthened his position. He appeased her.

"The two identical cases I've been working, the ones concerning the Kings. Don't you think it's strange that I would begin working that case in Hannah's world and then, days after finding NO cases waiting for me here, I start working on the exact same case except with Alex King dead instead of his parents? Don't you think that it's a little too convenient that Alex is the same age as Rex and was killed by violence not of his own making? And don't you think it's odd that every time I questioned David King I got the answer I was expecting every single time? All the dots here fit together a little too perfectly; the whole thing is just too neat to be real. Then there's the new development where we found Burgan alive and Espinosa had fled the country before we had a chance to question him? In the other world, Burgan and Espinosa are both dead. And Burgan himself? The man gave us all the gold standard for answers to our interrogation. He sold out Espinosa, fingered him as the guy who hired him to kill Alex, and would sign a statement and confession to that effect. Meanwhile, in Hannah's reality, Espinosa's been murdered by his supposed servant 'Rico' who was killed by a vengeful father of one of the man's victims."

"And all these 'clues' you speak of have led you to make this conclusion? So this world I inhabit, that your _son_ inhabits and that you yourself frequent on a day-to-day basis, is all just a dream? Do you honestly believe beyond a shadow of a doubt that none of this exists?" Doctor Evans had yet to raise her voice or show a flash of any emotion other than sympathy throughout her rebuttal, a measured response as usual. Michael bit back.

"I know the difference between a real investigation and the ones they show you on procedural shows; this case I've been working here is not real. The suspects are too cooperative, the motives behind it are too simple and the whole feel of the way it's developed are just wrong. There are no homicides in my twenty-year law enforcement career with an ending like this. It just doesn't fit." Doctor Evans nodded, almost as if she were inclined to agree with him. What she proposed next chilled Michael to the bone.

"So, Rex is dead then? Your son is nothing but a corpse in the ground, rotting into obscurity as we speak, or dream as you believe. Is that something you can live with, Detective Britten? The boy you raised for fifteen years, the child you loved with every fibre of your being, is dead and beyond your reach? I suppose that he, by the same logic you just applied to your current case, did not 'fit' either. I mean your son's grief and longing for his mother, the way he reacted following her death and your relationship with him now, they're all just part of your imagination, right? You made it all up to appease your guilt. Otherwise, how else could you explain his presence?" Michael was rendered speechless by how callous a stance the psychiatrist had taken in regards to Rex's tangibility. But she was only suggesting what he would face in accepting the concept Hannah's reality was real. An image of the boy's casket being interred into the ground raced across his mind and made him shudder.

"I have to stick to my guns, Doctor. Like you keep saying, I can't have it both ways; I need to make a choice and I'm sticking to it. This place isn't real. Rex is d…."

"Let me tell you something about reality, Michael. Reality is an unpredictable and crazy place to be part of. When the unexpected happens, when certain individuals or environments are taken from us without warning, we want to believe it isn't real, that it is imaginary because it helps us cope. When I tell you Hannah is dead, I don't want to see you break down or get angry. I just want you to understand that you're not going to be forced to deal with it on your own. That's why I'm here. That's why your son IS here. And that's why I'm going to convince you this world is real before you leave this office. I don't want to sign the paperwork that says you need intense psychiatric treatment. I don't want you to lose the job and the life you cherish so much over a fantasy's lures. So let's take another look before we go around accusing people they don't exist."

oOo

Rex Britten was sat in the kitchen, gulping down a pitcher of water. Physical conditioning sessions for the tennis team were definitely getting tougher. The six-mile run that started around the track and then moved to the fields surrounding the tennis courts had taken him to the limit of his endurance. Now he was drenched in sweat and struggling to get his body under control, despite it almost being forty minutes later. His father had not shown up to take him home so he'd just grabbed a ride with Tara. The teenager had already made plans with Emma for meeting up tomorrow afternoon, deliberately avoiding doing anything tonight so he could recover. He did not want her seeing him so gassed; it was NOT a great look for him on any level. His mom used to think it was adorable seeing him exhausted, but he had never agreed with her on that point. He definitely needed some fitness tips off his dad. As if by fate, the moment he finished that thought, the man himself wandered through the front door. He was carrying Chinese takeaway.

"So how was work?" Rex asked as he sucked down more egg-fried noodles from his carton. Michael shrugged as he finished off his portion of sweet and sour chicken.

"It was okay. I feel like I learned a lot today from the case I closed."

"Yeah? What did you learn?"

"You know, just to ignore the little details and focus on the big ones. Somehow, you know, the investigation makes more sense if you dismiss all the unexplained and little weird points as anomalies." Rex frowned at him, offering up an unconvinced smile.

"That doesn't sound like good policing."

"Sometimes it's not always about the facts; sometimes it's about the feel of things that steers you in the right direction." Rex seemed to accept this and shrugged.

"I suppose as long as you close the case, it doesn't make much of a difference, huh? Your boss is going to happy, right?"

"Yeah. And what's your story? What's with the clothes? You take a bath in them or something?" The teenager rolled his eyes.

"How old are your jokes?"

"Ancient, but that's beside the point. What happened?"

"We did a little conditioning in tennis practice today."

"Oh yeah? How'd you do?"

"I pretty much sucked. I was actually hoping I could get some pointers from you." Michael smiled at him warmly before replying.

"Yeah, sure. You want to do anything tonight?" Rex shook his head and tried to sound casual in his response.

"No. I just want to watch TV and chill out." His father grinned.

"Practice really wiped you out, huh?"

"Absolutely. More like kicked my butt if I'm honest about it."

"We can fix that."

After Rex had enjoyed a prolonged and luxurious shower to soften his tired and aching muscles and Michael had cooked up some popcorn, the two of them took their positions on the couch and settled down for the evening. Before that point, Michael had been made to do a serious amount of thinking by Doctor Evans. She, like her counterpart, was very skilled at pointing out flaws and errors in the arguments presented. She countered Michael's claim the case was too easy by referencing the implausibility of how hard the other case had been to solve. It had taken three additional homicides to gain some measure of closure for Alex King and even that was bittersweet. She had asked him how often such a difficult case had appeared before him in his career. Michael had to admit, there had never been such a convoluted investigation with so many twists as the one he had just closed in Hannah's world. She also referenced how similar Alex King was in that world to Rex in terms of his attitude and behaviour, finding it too an oddly convenient placement. Evans had then admitted the ease with which he had dealt with the case here was unusual, but not impossible. Indeed, Michael had found himself faced with many cases not dissimilar to this. And then, of course, she had referenced Rex as the focal point of her whole argument.

Was Rex not real enough for Michael? Was his character so far removed from the child the man had brought up? Did he present the same kind of flaws in his credibility as the investigations? Could Michael truly believe the teenager was nothing but a figment of his imagination? The answer to these and all other questions aimed solely at Rex's substance was no. Rex was as real and credible a person as Hannah and just as precious to Michael. In many ways, he was back at square one in determining what actually passed as indisputably the true reality. And in other ways he wasn't. He had learned that no matter how fantastical the world around him was and no matter how transparent the investigations were, as long as he could enjoy Rex and Hannah's company at the end of the day and for every day after, nothing else mattered. If he could hold them in his arms, if he could hear them say they loved him and if he could just be with them and have it not feel awkward or fake, then he didn't care if he ever figured it out. All he had to do was play ball with the psychiatrists' games and convince them he was as sane and rational as the next guy. He didn't have to accept there was only one reality, not just yet. It was better that way. He liked having options.

o

"Alex, would you like some more potatoes?" Hannah offered their guest. Alex King politely declined.

"No thank you, Mrs Britten." She rolled her eyes at the unwanted title yet again. When she spoke, it was only in an encouraging and friendly manner to the teenager.

"It's Hannah." She told him. He nodded before smiling nervously. Michael joined in the nodding.

"Yeah, and I'm Michael, not Detective Britten. Got it?" Alex looked at the man and smiled.

"Michael, right."

Michael had been a little wary of inviting Alex over for a meal, given his age and emotional state. There was also the possibility Hannah would not have particularly wanted the company of a teenage boy at the dinner table. But the man had to admit, she was wonderful with the youth. As nervous and unsettled as he was now, Alex had been ten times worse at the outset of the night. His marked improvement was entirely down to Hannah's kind nature and generosity with him. She was patient and understanding about what he was experiencing and going through and never made him feel unwanted. It was obvious just from his facial expressions and generally body language how much such treatment meant to Alex.

"You're welcome here anytime, Alex." Hannah said at the night's conclusion as Michael prepared to drive him home. After dinner they had watched a movie, played a little foosball and generally talked about nothing just like a family would do to entertain themselves on a night. Both Hannah and Alex really seemed to relish and enjoy one another's company, something Michael felt could only benefit them both later on. He was also happy to see Alex happy, knowing first-hand how miserable and depressed the teenager had been earlier on. It was never going to be easy to pick himself back up after such trauma in such a short space of time, but Michael was glad he had been able to ease the pain somewhat. Alex nodded at Hannah.

"Thanks, Hannah." The two of them hugged briefly before Hannah kissed him on the cheek as they parted. The gesture clearly meant a lot to both of them considering what they had lost.

"I'll see you around, Honey. Have a safe trip back."

o

"Here you go, right on time." Michael said as they reached the front doorstep at exactly ten-thirty p.m. Alex nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, right on time." There was a silence lasting almost a minute. Michael could tell that the youth did not want to go inside and return to the reality waiting for him. Alex had been part of a family again for the night; he didn't want to go back to pretending with those other people. The man clapped a hand on the back of the teenager's neck.

"Hey, look at me, kid." Alex turned to look at Michael, his expression already one on the verge of tears. The man smiled before rubbing the boy's neck supportively. "It's going to be okay. It's not going to be easy, but you're going to wind up being okay too. You just got to hold on a bit longer. Okay?" Alex bit down on his bottom lip to force the pain back down. He nodded.

"Okay." For a split second after getting that reply, Michael thought they were just going to leave it at that. Then Alex had sprung forth with his arms and hugged the man with all his might, holding onto him with an iron grip. Michael had expected this, understanding how scared and vulnerable the teenager felt from his experiences with Rex. He reciprocated Alex's actions.

"If you ever need to talk to someone, you have my number. Okay?" He felt the teenager nod against the fabric of his shirt.

"Okay." Alex said, letting him go as he did so. "Goodnight, Michael."

"Night, Alex."

As Michael got into his car once the boy had gone inside, he was resigned to the fact his two worlds would never be perfect. How anybody could kill such a nice, unassuming kid in cold-blood was beyond him, as was the idea that justice could be given in the most violent of ways. But he supposed in many ways such tragic events and unforeseen developments were the hallmarks of reality; reality was, as Doctor Evans said, crazy and unpredictable. Things happened that could not be explained or reasoned away, no matter how much you tried. Burgan's confession was random, bizarre and a remarkable instance of the nature of humanity. People could decide to do the right thing at any moment if the circumstances were just so just as they could decide to do the wrong thing. Despite his doubts and reservations about the nature of reality, Michael was convinced Rex and Hannah were real, that they existed. Like Alex, all the man wanted was his family back. Whether were together or in pieces, as long as he had them both, Michael could survive anything…

Or could he?

**Final Thoughts: I spent almost three days trying to end this story and kept finding myself unsatisfied with the ending. I suppose I needed more, but all in all, I'm happy that this story could fit in nicely between the events of _That's Not My Penguin _and _Game Day_. If anybody liked this, please say so. If you didn't like it, also say so. Having written this makes me want to write more. But I'll only do it if it's any good or I have a point to prove. In any case, thank you all for reading this and reviewing it. It has been a pleasure.**


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